Cave Canem
by ryagelle
Summary: Ratchet discovers that being involved with the Twins ain't all sunshine and roses. New summary since old one didn't fit anymore. All recognizable characters property of HasTak. G1.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Alright, folks--this is not precisely a sequel. In fact, it was _supposed_ to be a one-shot. Except, somehow, it just sort of took over and started writing itself and snowballed out of control.

Oops.

Anyway, this will probably only be 2 (at most 3) chapters. (which is what I told myself about my last fic... I'm seeing a pattern here...)

Special thanks go to VAWitch for beta-ing this and making some very helpful suggestions. XD

* * *

"So I heard you got confined to quarters," Ratchet said quietly, watching the yellow mech stare sullenly at a rather violent video game. Pretending not to hear him, Sunstreaker snarled when his character died and slammed the 'off' switch on the console. He tossed the controller across the room and flopped down on the berth with his arms crossed, looking at the ceiling. 

"Fraggit, Sunny, are you gonna talk to me or pout like a spoiled sparkling?" Ratchet walked over to sit beside the Lamborghini on the berth.

Sunstreaker gave him a cursory glance. "What does it matter?" he growled. "You're mad at me too."

Ratchet cycled his vents in a frustrated sigh. "Well, considering the shape Gears was in when they brought him to me, I have a right to be angry—but I've already decided not to yell at you over it. From what I understand, Prime and Prowl have already done a fine job of browbeating you. What I want to know is why. What did he do to set you off, Sunstreaker?"

"Little fragger was asking for it, running his mouth,' Sunstreaker muttered uneasily, but he scooted around so that his head was lying in the medic's lap, tacitly asking for comfort.

Ratchet gave it to him, stroking the vents that framed his lover's face reassuringly. The yellow Lamborghini shuttered his optics, allowing himself to relax by degrees, and when he reopened his optics to look up at Ratchet they were so full of a complete trust that the medic's spark leaped painfully in its casing.

"Surely you knew better than to listen to anything that minibot says," Ratchet said reproachfully, and knew it was the wrong thing to say when Sunstreaker's expression hardened.

"_That minibot_ should know better than to open his fragging mouth," he seethed furiously. "What you and I do together is none of his business."

Ah—so that's what this was about.

"You almost killed him, Sunny," the medic reminded him grimly.

"He shouldn't have said those things about you," Sunstreaker reiterated. "Besides, if I had wanted him dead, he would be. I knew what I was doing," he added in a flat voice.

Ratchet felt his energon run cold at this blatant reminder of just what kind of mech he had bedded down with—and still he couldn't help but marvel at how he'd managed to win the love of so savage a being.

There was silence for a few moments as Sunstreaker let the medic's touch soothe him once again—and he suddenly felt compelled to explain himself to this mech who was the only one in the whole galaxy that cared for him besides Sideswipe.

"He said—" his vocalizer hitched a little "—he said that the only reason you have anything to do with a killer like me is because Sideswipe wouldn't have you otherwise." His voice died completely, and he turned his head so that his face was hidden in the medic's lap. He was startled into looking back up when Ratchet swore angrily.

"That little glitch! He'll wish he were scrap when I'm done with him," the white mech snarled, red fingers tightening on yellow armor. He opened his mouth to rant some more, but was interrupted by Sunstreaker's pleading voice.

"It's not true, is it Ratchet?" the Lamborghini asked desperately.

Ratchet shuddered with fury at the hurt and doubt lacing the question. He responded with the first thing that crossed his processors: he leaned down and kissed Sunstreaker fiercely, and Sunstreaker responded exactly as he had expected him to—with instant, white-hot desire.

It was a perfect distraction; if there was one thing these past few weeks as the twins' lover had taught him, it was that you didn't pull a maneuver like this on Sunstreaker without ending up flat on your back underneath him.

Not that Ratchet minded.

The brothers were as different as night and day when it came the physical aspect of their relationship, and the medic had come to enjoy spending time with each of them separately as much as he did when they teamed up on him.

Sideswipe was far from subtle when it came to seduction, but he could be very gentle and considerate when he wanted. Sunstreaker, on the other hand, was a battering ram to the senses, wild and unrestrained.

Once, Ratchet had walked into the medbay after a particularly intense coupling and had been surprised when Wheeljack, optics bright with fury, had demanded to know what Sunstreaker had done to him.

Still in a pleasant haze from the afterglow, it had taken him a moment to realize that he was covered in scrapes and dents and streaks of yellow paint. He had looked back up at his friend and said, a little helplessly, "Well, it felt good at the time." 'Jack had simply stared at him incredulously before setting himself to repairing the myriad dings and scratches, muttering under his breath about stupid medics who had the common sense of an over-energized Dinobot. He had only paused in his monologue long enough to scowl at Ratchet and dare him to say _one word_ the next time the medic had to patch him up after one of his inventions blew up in his face.

His mind jolted back to the present when Sunstreaker shoved him back on the berth and straddled him, never breaking the kiss as his fingers probed the seams of the medic's armor. The yellow mech was shaking and whining with need above him, already desperately trying to establish a connection even though it had been mere moments since they began. Seeing Sunstreaker's difficulty and mounting frustration, Ratchet gently put a halt to his unsteady attempts and did it for him—and the Lamborghini sighed with relief and sank gratefully into his lover's arms.

As always, interfacing with Sunstreaker was like riding a whirlwind of sensation and emotion—violent and earth-shattering. The entire encounter could not have lasted more than five minutes, but by the end they were both as trembling and shaken as if they had just fought Megatron himself.

"Don't ever think for a moment that I don't love you," Ratchet said fiercely after he recovered enough to talk without his vocalizer shorting. Face buried against the medic's neck, Sunstreaker nodded once, jerkily, but made no move to pull away, even when the door cycled open to admit his brother.

To Sideswipe's credit, he didn't say anything as he took in the sight of them entwined on the berth, just calmly locked the door and walked over to sit beside them. He carefully laid a hand on his brother's back between the shoulder plates and stayed like that for a few moments before he spoke.

"You ok?" he asked softly, and Sunstreaker just nodded again, wordlessly. Sideswipe sighed and rubbed his free hand over his face.

"Primus, Sunny! What were you thinking? I don't know how I managed to convince Prime to let me keep an optic on you instead of throwing you in the brig again—though I'd say Ratchet's being here weighed pretty heavily in the decision. Primus!" he repeated. "It's bad enough I have to go out on patrol and leave you behind without coming back to find out that you've been mauling the minibots while I'm gone. One of these days I'm just going to leave you to clean up your own messes." He looked like he might say more, but Ratchet cut him off angrily when Sunstreaker just shrank in on himself instead of rising to his own defense.

"That's enough, Sides," he said, wrapping his arms a little tighter around the yellow twin. "It wasn't right, what Sunny did to Gears, but I can't say it was right for Gears to say what he did to Sunstreaker." Sides just gaped at him like a landed fish for a moment, mouth opening and closing in surprise, before shuttering his optics and giving a short, bitter bark of laughter.

"That little fragger has a death-wish, doesn't he," the red Lamborghini muttered, shaking his head. "Fraggit, they know all of his buttons and just how to push them. Do they like being whaled on?"

Ratchet grunted, sitting up so that Sunstreaker was forced to roll off of him. "If Gears and Cliffjumper could learn to keep their traps shut, they wouldn't be in the medbay nearly as often," the white mech said, reaching out to gather the yellow twin back into his arms before he could get upset about being pushed away. "What I can't figure out is why you two don't say something about it to Prime."

Sideswipe snorted. "Yeah—'Sorry to bother you, Optimus, but Cliffjumper just won't stop picking on me'—that'll fly like a lead balloon." He gave the medic a dirty look. "I'm not a tattle-tale, Ratchet, and neither is Sunstreaker. If Prime can't see what's right under his nose, I'm not going to be the one to enlighten him."

Ratchet made a frustrated sound. "If you don't start defending yourselves to him, this is going to continue to happen. No one is going to admit to seeing Gears provoke Sunstreaker—"

"That's because no one was there for that part," Sunstreaker interrupted, lifting his head from where he had pillowed it on the medic's shoulder. "They must've heard the noise, though, because they all poured in to watch the fight. Primus, that little glitch left blue streaks on my paint," he added, rubbing angrily at one such discolored patch.

"You did a little more than scuff his paint, Sunstreaker," Ratchet replied dryly. "Did you ever stop to think that it's going to take me forever to put him back together? And in the meantime _I_ get to listen to him run his vocalizer." He checked his chrono, and sighed. "Look, I have to get back to the medbay; my shift's not over yet. I just came to check on Sunstreaker, and I've got Wheeljack covering for me until I get back. Will you be alright if I leave?" He directed the last at Sunstreaker, and the yellow mech nodded.

"Sides is here now…" he replied hesitantly.

Sideswipe nodded in agreement. "I won't leave him alone. Besides, I've been doing this a lot longer than you have," he said, with no small amount of ironic amusement—and it was certainly true that the red Lamborghini had more experience at performing damage control over his brother's rampages than Ratchet did.

Though he was fairly certain it had never occurred to Sideswipe to use the medic's favored method of 'distraction'.

Sunstreaker confirmed it a moment later when he commented, "But he's so much_ better_ at it than you are," with a sly look at his brother.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Sideswipe growled. He stood up so that Ratchet could get to his feet, and both twins followed him to the door. The medic kissed each of his lovers gently—and was stopped on his way out by a hand on his arm just above the elbow-joint.

"Don't say anything about this," Sideswipe said quietly. "We've always dealt with it on our own, and we don't need anyone butting in because they feel sorry for us."

Ratchet regarded him for a moment with an unreadable expression. "I can't promise I won't comply with a direct order from Prime, but I won't go running my vocalizer." His optics narrowed. "Trust me a little more than that," he added, and Sides lowered his gaze at the rebuke in the medic's voice.

"We trust you," Sunstreaker said in a low voice, stepping up to wrap his arms around Ratchet. "I love you," he breathed in the white mech's audios so that his brother couldn't hear it, and then pulled away to go back to his video game as though nothing had happened. Ratchet's spark fairly sang—he found himself treasuring every time that he managed to pull that admission from the vainglorious yellow twin.

"Ya know, that dreamy little smile makes you look really stupid," Sideswipe teased.

And then he crashed back down to Earth.

"Shut it, Sideswipe." He shoved the red mech playfully. Sideswipe shoved him back, and it almost degenerated into a wrestling match—which probably would have further degenerated into another bout of interfacing, knowing Sideswipe—until Sides reminded him that Wheeljack would probably take his head off if he didn't get back to the medbay soon. Ratchet nodded reluctantly, and, kissing the red twin one more time, he took his leave.

* * *

"What kept you?" Wheeljack asked, obviously irritated. "I swear, if you tell me you were interfacing with one of them again, I will dismantle you," he added, waving a laser-cutter at his friend. 

"Alright, then, I won't tell you," Ratchet replied blandly, and laughed when the inventor cursed.

"You're as insatiable as a youngling with his first partner, I swear," 'Jack grumbled.

Ratchet snorted. "It's more like _they're_ insatiable. I'm too old to be this—what was the human word? Oh yes—_horny_ all the time. Sometimes I wonder if they're not _trying_ to give me a CPU meltdown." He regarded the mangled wreck of a minibot that lay on one of his repair tables grimly. "_Frag_, but this is a mess," he sighed, reaching for a toolkit and trying to decide where to start.

"He's really done it this time," Wheeljack said, going back to cutting away the ruined armor. "I'm surprised that Prime has remanded him into Sideswipe's custody after this."

"It surprised Sideswipe, too." Ratchet bent to begin removing a cluster of burnt wiring.

"So why did he do it?" the engineer asked. "Surely he had to know that attacking a fellow Autobot would frag Optimus off royally. Has he finally lost it?"

Ratchet shot his friend a sour glare. "Look, Sunstreaker may be neurotic but he's not completely crazy, not yet. And trust me, I would be the first to let everyone know if he had 'lost it'—I know very well just how dangerous he can be." He paused to replace the fried wiring he had just removed with new. "There is always—always—a reason behind Sunstreaker's behavior, it's just that most mechs don't look for it."

"Slaggit, Ratchet, I know you love him, but you can't stand there and tell me that Gears deserved _this_," Wheeljack said hotly, indicating the twisted frame lying in front of them.

Ratchet sagged at that, looking defeated, then raised optics burning with anger back up to bore into Wheeljack's own. "No… Gears did not deserve getting the beating of his life. But he sure as slag should have been smart enough to not taunt Sunstreaker."

Wheeljack blinked in confusion. "What do you mean? Everyone who witnessed it said that ol' Sunshine just attacked without warning."

"Yes, I do think that explanations are in order," a deep voice interrupted, and they looked up from their argument to see Optimus Prime enter the medbay. Ratchet merely scowled and turned back to his work.

"How is he?" Prime asked, coming to stand beside the CMO.

"Who? Gears, or Sunstreaker?" Ratchet returned irritably.

"Both," the Autobot leader rumbled gently. For a moment, Optimus wondered if the medic would answer, then:

"Gears will live—but he'll just about have to be rebuilt from scratch. As for Sunstreaker… well, he's calmer now than he was. And Sideswipe is with him." Ratchet fell silent after that, refusing to look up at his commanding officer.

Optimus sighed at the CMO's defensive tone, warm air hissing out of his vents. He had no desire to antagonize Ratchet, but this was such a touchy situation, made more so by the medic's emotional involvement with the Lamborghini twins. He could not really see a delicate way around this—

"He's not crazy, Optimus. Just very… defensive," Ratchet said quietly. "It doesn't help that he's programmed for war, and his first response to anything he perceives as threatening is violence. It's not really something he can help."

"He needs to learn to overcome his programming," Prime replied, irritated despite himself. "He's not a mindless drone. He _must_ learn to control himself if he is to be a productive member of this crew. We are Autobots—we do not just instigate brawls to settle our differences. Not to mention the fact that Gears is hardly a threat to Sunstreaker."

"Well,_ Sunstreaker's_ not the only one that needs to learn some self-control," Ratchet muttered savagely, removing a damaged servo with unnecessary force.

Prime cocked his head questioningly. "And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

"It_ means_ that if certain minibots would keep their derogatory comments to themselves, _I_ wouldn't have to be saving them from their own stupidity. The humans have a saying: If you play with fire, expect to get burned," the medic replied coldly.

Prime was completely taken aback. "Do you mean to tell me that Gears _provoked_ Sunstreaker?"

"It makes sense," Wheeljack offered hesitantly. "Everyone knows that Gears doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut." Wheeljack fell into uneasy silence when Prime's optics shifted to look at him.

"Look, can't you see I'm working here? Why don't you two go continue this discussion elsewhere so I can concentrate?" Ratchet demanded angrily, slapping both hands down on the edge of the repair table.

"I can see that you're getting a little defensive," Prime observed. He hesitated for a moment, then said gently, "Ratchet, if there's anything you know that might help Sunstreaker's case, you should tell me. We can certainly use all the help we can get in trying to prevent these little… temper-fits." He received no response.

_He's ignoring me,_ Prime thought incredulously. "Look, I can order you to tell me," he reminded the medic quietly.

"Order away," Ratchet shot back.

Optimus winced at that. "You realize that if you fail to comply, I will be forced to have you spend a night in the brig—and you know that Sunstreaker won't like that any more than you will."

The medic's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yeah," he muttered. He shot Prime a sour look. "Thanks so much for backing me into a corner, Optimus," he said sarcastically. "Such a wonderful friend you are."

Sorrow flashed across Prime's face for a moment before his expression hardened. "I am sorry, Ratchet, but something must be done. I'm ordering you to tell me what you know of this matter."

The CMO expelled all of the air out of his vents in a long sigh. "Fine. Sunstreaker is very insecure about our… relationship. Gears played into that by telling him that I am only interested in him because of his brother." His optics flashed up to meet his commanding officer's. "It was a low trick, Optimus, and I don't blame Sunny for being hurt and angry because of it. It took a lot of doing to reassure him, and I _still_ don't think he's completely at ease over this—he's well aware that most of the mechs on base wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole, and that those same mechs are generally on good terms with his brother. He's also well aware that Sideswipe refuses to get involved with someone that won't accept both of them. It's not such a big leap from knowing all that to thinking that someone might be using him," he added fiercely. "It doesn't help that he actually _believes_ everything he gets taunted with—and most of the taunting is very mean-spirited. Neither Gears nor any of the others who get themselves slagged courtesy of Sunstreaker are as innocent as they would have you believe."

"I… see. And how long has this been going on?" Optimus asked, looking at Gears appraisingly.

Ratchet snorted. "Frag if I know. Trying to get something like that out of either twin is like—to use a human phrase—trying to squeeze blood out of a turnip. Sides is just as closemouthed about it as Sunny." He paused for a moment, thinking. "If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that it's been going on under our noses the whole time, and Sunstreaker is just too proud to say anything about it—and Sideswipe would never break his brother's trust with something this personal."

Prime nodded. "I can see that I shall have to have a word with some of the minibots, as well as Sunstreaker," he rumbled grimly.

Ratchet shook his head. "Let me deal with Sunstreaker, Optimus," he argued. "I'll get him calmed down, and keep him from attacking anyone else, as long as you can keep the others from harassing him." When it looked like Optimus might refuse, he added earnestly, "I beg you."

Prime gave him a hard stare, then, abruptly, his expression softened and he sighed. "Very well… but he's still confined to quarters for the next two weeks. If I do not see an improvement by then, it's into the brig with him until something can be done about him. Understood?"

"Yessir," Ratchet replied quietly.

Optimus nodded. "Let me know when he's online," he said, indicating the stasis-locked Gears.

"Will do!" Wheeljack chirped, a little nervously. Ratchet merely nodded, and Prime left.

"You do like to live dangerously," the engineer commented dryly. "It's a good thing he likes you, or I think you'd be spending the night locked up in a cell."

"I'm entitled to a little insubordination," Ratchet muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "I've put his aft back together more times than I can count. He owes me one."

"Yeah, looks like Sunstreaker owes ya one, too, now… Slaggit, Ratch, no one's been able to civilize him so far, what makes you think you can keep your word to Prime?"

"Civilize him?" the medic echoed. "I don't think it's possible to civilize him—but maybe I can convince him it's in his better interest to at least ignore what they say to him." He suddenly favored his friend with an evil smile. "Not to mention the fact that Prime's not the only one who's going to have a word with a few minibots…"

Wheeljack laughed outright. "You know, I don't think there's a mech on this base that doesn't know better than to run afoul of your temper!"

"With good reason," Ratchet replied affably. "There are not many mechs that can nail a Lambo in the head with a wrench at thirty paces." He turned back toward the unfortunate Gears. "Now, let's get this fragger back to the land of the functioning."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I apologize for how long it has taken me to get this posted, but the flu and my evil Adv. Visual Basic class have been kicking my butt. (Every time my muse has struck, I've had a program to write. ( And trying to write code while your mind is screaming "STORY STORY STORY!!!" really bites.)

Also, a note on the name, just in case some of you are not familiar with Latin: Cave Canem (pronounced KAH-way KAH-nehm) translates into "Beware the dog" or "Watch out for the dog." (Yes I like Latin and yes I'm a geek.)

And now, I'm sure you're sick of my rambling, so: On to the fic!

* * *

Gears woke up complaining, and Ratchet was quick to put a stop to it - by hitting him over the head with the biggest wrench he could find. 

"Ow! Primus, what was that for?" the blue and red minibot demanded, rubbing the fresh dent in his helmet angrily.

"For being stupid," Ratchet replied menacingly. "Have you learned your lesson or do I need to beat some more sense into your head?" He waved the wrench again for emphasis.

Gears eyed the tool warily. "No, I think I'm good, thanks," he muttered, inching away from the medic as far as the repair table would allow.

"Do you even know," Ratchet asked conversationally, "how long it has taken me to put your sorry aft back together? Hmm?" When Gears shook his head fearfully, he informed him, "It has taken me the entire slagging day and night, you sorry fragger—and that was with Wheeljack helping! This ranks right up there with Jet Judo on the list of 'Extremely Stupid Ways to Get Hurt'—or was that 'Extremely Stupid Ways to Piss Ratchet Off'?!" By this point he was shouting, Gears had covered his head with both hands to protect himself from flying tools, and several heads had poked into the medbay to see the show. (It was considered high entertainment in the Ark to watch Ratchet deliver a dressing-down—as long as you were not the one on the receiving end.)

"Did you even _stop_ to _think_ that Sunstreaker might _rip you to shreds_, you idiotic, overclocked scrapheap? Fraggit, I _will not_ fix you if this happens again. You'd best try your luck with Hoist or Wheeljack or First Aid—_if_ I don't go ahead and assign Swoop to repairing you for the rest of your life." He nodded, as though the thought had just occurred to him and he liked it. "Yes, that's what I'll do—Swoop needs someone to practice on anyway—"

"No, no, that won't be necessary!" Gears interrupted hastily, staring at Ratchet in horror. "I promise I won't say another word to Sunstreaker!" He squeaked when Swoop wandered over from where he had been studying some datapad or other that Ratchet had set him too, obviously having heard his name.

"You Ratchet need me Swoop?" the Dinobot asked eagerly, peering down at Gears and grinning good-naturedly.

The medic echoed his student's grin—except his had a decidedly evil cast to it. "No, not at the moment, Swoop—Gears was just leaving, weren't you Gears?"

The minibot nodded frantically, slipping down off of the repair table and bolting out of the door, much to Swoop's puzzlement and the amusement of the crowd now gathered around the entrance to the medbay. Finally noticing the audience, Ratchet snarled for them to clear out, unless they had a good reason to be there.

"Why him Gears leave so fast?" Swoop asked, bewildered.

Ratchet shrugged and clapped the big Dinobot on the back, smiling. "I guess I just have that effect on some mechs," he replied. At Swoop's confused look, he added, "Don't you worry about it, Swoop. Now, did you finish that datapad?"

"Almost! Me Swoop go read the rest, now!" Swoop chirruped happily.

Ratchet nodded. "Let me know when you're done—we'll see how much you've learned." Swoop made a wordless squawk of agreement and scurried back over to the corner where he'd set up a chair and desk to study. He didn't even look up when Sideswipe sauntered into the medbay and kissed Ratchet thoroughly in greeting, by now used to the Lamborghini's attempts to embarrass the medic.

"You could learn to be a little more circumspect," Ratchet breathed when they parted.

"You could learn to speak a language I understand," Sideswipe retorted laughingly. "At this rate, I'm gonna have to start carryin' around a dictionary," he teased, running gentle fingers down the medic's arm.

Ratchet snorted. "Circumspect: adjective. Watchful and discreet; cautious; prudent. Not that any of _those_ words are in your vocabulary, either."

Sideswipe laughed again. "Damn right," he replied cheerfully. "You like it and you know it. Anyway, I heard your 'conversation' with Gears—slag, any mech with functioning audios could have heard it—and that was a pretty low blow, babe, siccing poor Swoop on him."

"He deserved it," Ratchet grumbled, pulling away to begin cleaning up the repair table the minibot had vacated. "Besides, Swoop is shaping up to be a perfectly capable medic, aren't you Swoop?" He raised his voice so that the Dinobot could hear that last sentence, and got a pleased squawk in response.

Sideswipe decided to make himself useful and wiped the table down with a rag dipped in cleaning solution as Ratchet reorganized his tools. "Yeah, but I'll bet Gears doesn't know that," he chortled.

Ratchet couldn't help but smile back. "Well, no," he admitted, looking smug. "By the way," he added, "someone needs to inform Prime that the little slagger is up and about." Suiting actions to words, he activated his personal comm unit and did just that, deliberately ignoring Prime's annoyance that he hadn't kept Gears in the medbay where he could be found easily.

Oops.

Let Prime chase the glitch down—it would give him time to let his temper build up and make it that much worse for the minibot. Of course, he himself planned on being scarce when Optimus caught Gears. He had no desire to be mixed up in that particular slagstorm.

Sideswipe was suddenly right in front of his face, expression thunderous—it had not taken him long, after listening to Ratchet's side of the conversation, to realize why Prime was looking for Gears.

"You told him, didn't you?" he demanded angrily, ignoring the warning growl from Swoop.

Ratchet flinched a little, and then raised his chin defiantly. "It was either tell him, or let him throw me—and probably Sunny as well—into the brig. You know it wouldn't have done your brother any good to be locked up in a cage." He glanced at the alarmed Dinobot, who was beginning to rise to his feet. "Calm down, Swoop. It's alright."

"If you Ratchet say so," Swoop grumbled, grudgingly sitting back down—but he never took his optics off of Sideswipe. If being watched so intently bothered the red Lamborghini, he didn't show it.

"Damn it, Ratch," he swore, shaking his head.

"I was not willing to upset Sunstreaker even more than he already was, not when I could prevent it so easily," the medic said defensively.

"Who else knows?" Sides asked tersely.

"Only Wheeljack," was the soft response.

"Of course," the Lamborghini muttered bitterly.

"Look," Ratchet snarled, suddenly furious, "I am sick and damned tired of seeing you two get in trouble over this slag—and Wheeljack knows better that to tell _one single soul_ about any of this because he knows I would reconfigure him as something unpleasant while he recharged. And Prime is planning on reprimanding the worst of the troublemakers_ privately._ No one's making a big production out of this, but, fraggit, _something_ is getting _done! _And it is _about fragging time_, too. Primus knows how long you've been putting up with this, this nonsense—"

"Long enough," Sideswipe interrupted, watching the medic with wide optics. "You're really worked up about this, aren't you?" he asked, sounding a little surprised.

"Primus," Ratchet said hoarsely. "Yeah. It's always bothered me, the way they talk to him, but I never really knew how much what they said affected him until now." He placed both hands flat on the surface of the table, trying to still his shaking.

"Hmm." Sideswipe gently pulled the medic into an embrace. "Hey, calm down," he murmured. "You get excited too easily. Sunny and I are big boys—we'll deal. We always have." Ratchet nodded in acceptance.

"I know," he said quietly, looking up into the red mech's face.

"A cube of high grade says Prime reams Gears when he gets hold of him," Sides remarked, neatly changing the subject. Ratchet blinked; it took him a moment to process the non sequitur, and when he did he laughed weakly.

"Hmph. Do I look stupid to you? Find another sucker to take that bet," Ratchet replied, pulling away and chuckling when Sideswipe snapped his fingers with an 'Aw, shucks, you caught me' air and said, "Damn, and here I thought you were an easy mark."

"Hardly," the medic murmured, stretching up to kiss the red Lamborghini softly.

"Mmm… much as I would like to stay, I mostly came to tell you that I'm heading out on patrol again. Got paired with Trailbreaker, of all mechs," Sideswipe said quietly, breaking the kiss and leaning his forehead against his lover's. He suddenly pulled back a little, cocking his head to the side in a 'listening' pose—Sunny must be speaking to him again. Ratchet had to admit, sometimes it was a little daunting, realizing that no matter how close he got to his lovers, they would always be closer to one another—two halves of a whole spark. It was not something he could really compete with, even if it was a different sort of love than what he shared with them. "Sunstreaker wants to know where the frag you've been all night. We _missed_ you," Sides purred, putting an emphasis on 'missed' that made it sound vaguely obscene.

"I'll just bet you did," Ratchet retorted, pushing Sideswipe away in mock aggravation. "Is that all you ever think about?"

Sideswipe pretended to ponder that a moment, then replied brightly, "Umm, yep!" and laughed when the medic narrowed his optics and advanced on him menacingly. "And, uhh, I really gotta go, bye!" he said in a cheerful rush, leaning down to kiss lips gone thin with suppressed amusement, and then escaping through the door.

Ratchet shook his head after him ruefully, picking up the rag that Sideswipe had abandoned and putting it away. He looked up to see Swoop watching him speculatively.

"How him Sideswipe know what Sunstreaker want if him Sunstreaker in other room?" the Dinobot asked in a curious tone. "Me Swoop not know what other Dinobots are thinking, and us Dinobots are brothers…"

"You Dinobots are brothers, yes, but more in the sense that you were designed by the same creator for similar purposes. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are spark-twins, which is something altogether different," Ratchet replied—it was as good a time as ever to teach Swoop about twinned sparks. "Where you and your brothers each have a separate spark, they were originally a single spark, which split at the moment of their creation and formed two distinct personalities. Because they were supposed to be a single entity—a single being—their sparks are bonded to one another. In essence, they share a spark—because at the core, they _are_ the same being. Each one of them is a different facet of the original personality. Simply put, they are opposite sides of the same coin—where Sideswipe is outgoing and generally friendly, Sunstreaker is decidedly _not_—but they're both very similar when it comes right down to it."

Swoop frowned at him and _hummed_ thoughtfully. "Them Twins _seem_ like they each whole person," he said, sounding confused.

"Well, they are—in a manner of speaking. They're not the same person, certainly. As I've already said, they each have their own personality, and they definitely each have their own minds, but they're not really _whole_ in and of themselves," Ratchet explained. "Their sparks behave as though they were still one—therefore the bond and their ability to know what the other is thinking or feeling at any given time. I also have a sneaking suspicion that what one thinks and feels has a great deal of influence on the other—they're often of one mind on something they feel strongly about, even if they drive me to the point of distraction with their bickering over pointless things."

"Ya know, Boss, if you're not careful you'll end up the galaxy's leading expert on twinned sparks," First Aid quipped from the doorway, startling Ratchet into jumping and swearing.

"Fraggit, 'Aid, knock when you come in from now on," the medic growled, scowling at the Protectobot, who nodded agreeably while Swoop roared with laughter.

When Ratchet turned his scowl on the Dinobot, Swoop gasped, "If you Ratchet could see your face…!" and collapsed into giggles again.

"Ha, ha, very funny—let's see who can give the old 'Bot CPU failure first, you two or those damned Lamborghinis," the medic muttered, giving both of them dirty looks.

"It _was_ pretty funny, Boss," First Aid offered cautiously, no doubt grinning like a Cheshire cat underneath that faceplate. Ratchet just snorted in reply.

When Swoop finally recovered from his giggle-fit, he jumped right back into the conversation they had just left. "Why him 'Aid say you Ratchet be expert on twins?"

"Because out of all of us, he's the one that spends the most time with them, and twins are extremely rare," First Aid answered for him. "Most everything in the databases about them is theory. A bond is a very personal thing to begin with, and when the person you're bonded to is literally the other half of yourself—well, it's even rarer than twins themselves are to find a set that are willing to talk about their relationship."

Ratchet nodded approvingly. "You've been studying, I see," he murmured, and First Aid ducked his head in embarrassment at the rare praise.

"That makes sense," Swoop said, nodding himself. He hesitated a moment, as though debating whether to voice his question, then softly asked, "Ratchet, if them Sunstreaker and Sideswipe one whole spark, then what happens if one dies?"

Ratchet shuttered his optics for a moment at that, prompting First Aid to ask worriedly, "Boss?" The medic waved away the Protectobot's concern, opening his optics and saying, "No, no, it's a good question—the answer to which is, the other will die also, barring a miracle. And they both know it, too." He sighed, vents hissing as air cycled out. "I could kill them every time they pull one of their stupid stunts—they're well aware that they're playing with two lives instead of just one when they put themselves in danger like that."

"Maybe they don't think of it like that," First Aid offered. "Maybe they're so used to the fact that neither of them will outlive the other that it never occurs to them to take care."

Ratchet gave him a flat look. "If you believe that, then you're out of your processor. They do it for the same reason that Sideswipe decided to paint Grimlock pink. They just _like_ it, the crazy sons of glitches. The danger gives them a thrill—and fighting is what they're programmed to do."

Swoop gave a little choked snort of laughter. "Him _Sideswipe_ painted him Grimlock? Oooh, him Grimlock was so _mad!_" On seeing his mentor's concerned look, he giggled, "Oh, you Ratchet not worry. Me Swoop not tell him Grimlock," and he snorted with laughter again, no doubt at the thought of his commander's undignified bellowing on discovering he'd been pranked.

Ratchet felt his own lips quirk in a smile; the Dinobot's amusement was infectious. (Not to mention it _had_ been hilarious—in hindsight—to see Grimlock stalk into the medbay dripping pink paint and demanding for someone to fix this _now._ Sides had been all the way across the room, but Ratchet had managed to nail him anyway—it had not taken the medic long to figure out the culprit behind that dangerous little stunt. The red Lamborghini had refused to speak to him for the rest of the day, and Grimlock had been mystified by the whole incident.)

"You should go on and get some recharge in, Boss," First Aid suggested, breaking into Ratchet's musing. "Wheeljack said that you were both up all night working on Gears—and he's already taken off for his quarters. I can keep an optic on this place until you get back," he added tentatively.

The medic regarded him searchingly for a moment, before finally nodding. He stretched stiff joints, saying, "I think I will. You'll be sure to call me if there's anything you need help with?"

"Sure thing," the Protectobot agreed immediately, and Ratchet left, confident that his two young protégés were capable enough to handle the medbay in his absence—and that they had enough sense to call him if they couldn't.

* * *

Sunstreaker was awakened from recharge when he felt Ratchet slip into the berth and lie down beside him. He opened his optics to see that the medic was already recharging. 

"You're exhausted, aren't you," he murmured, softly so that he wouldn't disturb his resting lover. "I didn't mean to cause you so much trouble." He reached up and gently stroked his thumb across the thin lips, and was pleased to see the blue optics slit open for a moment while a half-hearted kiss was pressed to his thumb before the white and red mech fell back into recharge.

Sunstreaker studied his lover's face thoughtfully. Ratchet was far from ugly, he decided, but neither was he as outstandingly beautiful as Sunstreaker himself was. (This was not vanity, just the truth—no matter what everyone else thought.) It was a face he felt he would never get tired of looking at—which was a good thing considering Sunstreaker planned on sticking by him for the foreseeable future.

The first time he and Sides had interfaced with the medic, something deep within his processor had just 'clicked' into place—as though this were the way things were supposed to be, and he had known in the same instant that his brother had felt the same. The first time they were alone together had only driven the point home—because Ratchet was not afraid of him, even though (and he was ashamed to admit it) he had been far too rough with him. Just because Sides had told him later that the medic had insisted that Sunny had not actually hurt him—he had, in fact, all but said that the yellow Lambo had thoroughly blown his circuits—it was still not forgivable for him to leave so many dents and scrapes and little wounds all over his lover, but he just couldn't seem to help himself.

Once, after a particularly violent joining, he had followed the ambulance into the medbay where he had gone to start his shift, intending to help Ratchet repair the little dings and scrapes he had left on his frame by way of an apology, and had immediately ducked back out again upon hearing Wheeljack's furious tirade when he saw his friend. It was an unpleasant reminder that not everyone was pleased with his relationship with Ratchet—in fact, the only ones who _did_ seem pleased with the entire arrangement were Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Ratchet themselves.

It was funny, though, that no one ever commented on _Sideswipe's_ relationship with the medic—despite the fact that Sides had hurt Ratchet far worse with his bet than Sunny had ever done—and Sides was certainly a far more _demonstrative_ mech than Sunny would ever be. The one time Sunstreaker had dared to kiss Ratchet in public view had been the last, since, although the medic's reaction had been gratifying, the black looks directed at him by the others nearby had not. It bothered the yellow warrior that his brother could get away with a lot more than a simple kiss in his unending crusade to embarrass Ratchet to death—without so much as an untoward look.

The straw that broke the camel's back, though, was that fragging minibot's taunting. Gears had gotten especially brave ever since Sunstreaker had decided to rein in his temper for Ratchet's sake and set himself to ignoring the usual comments from the usual crowd. (Cliffjumper had been feeling brave, too, but Gears had been _alone_ when he decided to test Sunstreaker's patience.)

What had truly made him furious about the whole thing was wondering: Was it true? If it was, it certainly wouldn't be the first time that they had had a lover who would have preferred to have Sideswipe on his own, and only Sides' insistence on sharing with his brother got the generally moody and irritable yellow mech any attention at all. Of course, Sides also insisted that Sunny should make himself more 'approachable' if he wanted to attract a potential partner on his own merit.

Pfeh. If he had to pretend to be someone else to attract a lover, then he didn't need one of his own—there were plenty of mechs that wanted the thrill of a one night stand with Cybertron's most dangerous set of twins. He _certainly_ didn't mind sharing with Sides.

And then there was Ratchet. For the life of him, Sunstreaker couldn't figure him out. When he had first joined this outfit, he could have sworn the medic hated him and everyone else that came through his medbay needing repairs—and he had slowly come to realize that, the more Ratchet yelled and threw things and generally had a temper-fit, the more worried he was about you. (The violence of the lecture you got when you woke up could also be used to accurately gauge the severity of your wounds—and you knew it was really bad when he was reduced to incoherency, and could only manage to demand that you get out, immediately.)

Of course, knowing this did not make Sunstreaker any more appreciative of the myriad dents Ratchet had left on him during the course of said temper-fits, but it _did_ make him less inclined to maim the ambulance.

And now—well, now Sunstreaker really did not know what to think. Oh, that he was thoroughly, hopelessly in love, he knew; and that Sideswipe was just as enamored as he was of the medic was a foregone conclusion. It was just that—well, it worried him. Sideswipe was the only mech he had ever really cared about besides himself, and they were so closely bonded through the spark that they shared that they were unwilling—perhaps even unable, he had never tested it—to keep secrets from one another. It sort of unnerved him a little to realize that he could not accurately gauge the depth of the medic's feelings for him, and even though he got a sense of Ratchet's emotions every time they were connected, it was not really something that he trusted, since his mind was generally clouded by the pleasure created by the joining.

He huffed, a short burst of air through his vents, and gently, tentatively, pulled the medic into his arms—and was inordinately pleased when Ratchet's unconscious response was to press even tighter up against Sunstreaker's body with a soft, satisfied sigh.

It soothed his fears somewhat that Ratchet trusted him enough to offline beside him—to press up against him for comfort, even!—when other 'Bots were leery of getting too close. He was well aware that they all thought he was a loose cannon, liable to go off at any moment for any reason.

Well, it wasn't his fault that they all got on his nerves.

His attention returned to his lover when the medic made a soft, protesting noise and turned his face into Sunstreaker's shoulder, and the yellow mech realized that he'd been absently tracing the V-shaped crest on Ratchet's forehead. The light touch must have bothered him. He eased the medic's face back up and soothingly kissed where his fingers had irritated. Ratchet's expression became relaxed once more.

_Like this, he's beautiful,_ Sunstreaker abruptly realized, and was struck by the need to capture the moment.

He gingerly wiggled his way out from underneath the medic, pulling a little pad of paper and a bit of charcoal out of subspace and beginning to sketch. At first he used light, sweeping strokes, creating a vague outline that slowly took on the appearance of his resting lover as the lines became bolder and the details clearer. Once the line sketch was finished, he shaded it lovingly, all of the nuances of light and shadow playing across Ratchet's face replicated on the paper.

He examined his handiwork critically; it was not up to par with the work he'd done before, but it was serviceable enough, and he nodded with satisfaction that he had not completely lost his touch. He checked his chrono, and was surprised to see that nearly the entire day had passed.

He was startled into leaping and swearing when Sideswipe's voice said right next to his audios, "Hey, pretty good, bro," and a black hand snatched the sketch pad away from him.

"Give that back," Sunstreaker snarled, lunging for it and inadvertently waking Ratchet when he bumped into him.

"What the frag is going on?" the medic demanded, peering up at the bickering twins with bleary optics.

The sight that greeted him would have been ludicrous if Sunstreaker hadn't been so seriously angry—Sideswipe was leaned back with one arm stretched out above and behind himself as far as it would go, and Sunstreaker had both arms wrapped around his brother and was making a good attempt at climbing him in order to reclaim the object clutched in the red Lamborghini's hand.

Seeing as how neither twin was paying him any mind whatsoever, he slipped off of the berth, walked around behind Sideswipe, and casually plucked the pad of paper out of the red mech's hand—and stopped dead when he saw what was on it.

"No!" Sunstreaker cried, finally realizing what had happened. He turned his attention back to Sideswipe. "I'm going to kill you, you pathetic excuse for a rusting scrap-heap!"

"Is this… me?" Ratchet asked softly, staring at the little sketch in awe.

"Yeah," Sunstreaker muttered sullenly, abruptly letting go of his brother—it was obvious, if you knew what to look for, that he was embarrassed.

The ambulance looked up at his yellow lover. "I know I'm not _this_ good-looking—" he began, but Sunstreaker cut him off.

"I only draw what I see," he said in a tense voice, shifting his weight uneasily. Sideswipe laid a calming hand on his shoulder, and for once Sunstreaker did not brush him away.

Ratchet's expression changed to one of wonderment, and then, before either twin had time to react, he had walked over and yanked Sunstreaker down for a bruising but thorough kiss. "Thank you," he breathed after pulling away slightly, shivering at the feel of the yellow Lamborghini's engine revving against him.

Sideswipe had wrapped his arms around him from behind and was pressing distracting little kisses along the back of his neck and shoulders, and Sunstreaker had opened his mouth to say something in reply, but his words were lost as an explosion rocked the Ark.

The three of them looked at each other for a moment in shock, then, in unison, they said, "Wheeljack!" and darted for the door.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Well, I lied about finishing this in 2-3 chapters--and I lied about this fic not being a sequel.

'Cause, you know, it is.

Oops.

This thing has sort of hijacked itself, and it's just taking me along for the ride--so I've officially decided to just sit down, shut up, and enjoy it for as long as it cares to last. XD

Thanks once again to VAWitch for being the best beta reader ever. XD

Oh, and here's a shameless plug for my twin's (ryagelle's evil twin) fic, Breaking the Rules--if you haven't read it yet, do so. You will laugh your aft off.

* * *

When the three of them reached Wheeljack's lab—Sunstreaker had followed them, confinement be damned—Ratchet was horrified, though not surprised, to see that the heavy doors that had been designed specifically for incidents such as this were lying in a twisted heap against the opposite wall in the hallway. Whatever 'Jack had been working on must have been even more volatile than usual, and it had reduced his workspace to nothing but rubble. 

Ratchet and the Lamborghini twins picked their way through the wreckage, tripping over the crumpled ceiling plates and bits of equipment lying everywhere. The medic frantically searched the room for a splash of white or green and hoped that his friend was still alive, while Sunstreaker—uncharacteristically silent about potential damage to his paint job—and Sideswipe methodically began lifting up the larger pieces to look under them.

They had just lifted up a second chunk of ceiling when Ratchet cried, "Here!" They dropped the piece and hurried to their lover's side.

"Oh, 'Jack, you idiot," Ratchet muttered, vocalizer crackling with emotion as he scanned the badly damaged engineer.

Wheeljack was alive but thankfully offline, Sideswipe noted, shuddering with sympathy at the grisly injuries—the explosion had fused a lot of his armor plating to his frame, and in places had melted it away completely to expose charred wiring and internals. Ironically, the twisted lump of metal pinning the inventor to the floor had in all likelihood also saved him from being riddled with shrapnel, as well.

"Help me get this off of him," Ratchet murmured, tugging gently at the unrecognizable mass of metal lying on top of his friend, and the twin Lamborghinis complied without a word.

Just as they managed to heave it off of the injured Lancia, the cavalry came charging in, in the form of Prowl, Ironhide, Jazz—and Optimus Prime, who took one look at Sunstreaker and demanded, "What is he doing out of quarters?"

Everyone just sort of froze for a moment and you might have been able to hear a pin drop if it hadn't been for the steady tick, tick, tick of cooling metal.

Finally, Sunstreaker replied, a little belligerent, "Helping Ratchet. Sir." He added the last as an afterthought, almost insultingly, and only curled one lip in a sneer when the medic hissed, "Sunstreaker!"

Prime stared at the tense yellow Lamborghini with narrowed optics.

"I am willing to overlook your presence due to the circumstances, but the insubordinate attitude is not helping you, Sunstreaker," Optimus said grimly. "Since we are now here to assist, I advise that you get back to your quarters immediately."

Sunstreaker regarded his commanding officer contemptuously for a moment before replying in a deliberate tone, "No, I don't think I will," and turned back to begin clearing the debris from around Wheeljack's prone form.

Prime's optics fairly glowed with anger. "Then you leave me no choice," he said in a voice that managed to be both cold and sad. "Prowl, Ironhide, escort Sunstreaker to the brig. We'll see if cooling your jets in a cell will sweeten your disposition."

"Optimus, no…" Ratchet whispered, optics wide and vocalizer unsteady. He was torn between defending the yellow Lamborghini and working to stabilize his dearest friend, and the stress of having to do both at the same time was bidding fair to overwhelm his cooling system and send him into processor lock.

"Prime, please… Sunny, come on, let's go back, I'll go with you—they can take care of Wheeljack," Sideswipe said a little desperately, tugging on his brother's arm.

"Frag you, and frag Wheeljack! I'm not here for _him,_" Sunstreaker snarled, shoving his brother away. Ironhide quickly moved into the red twin's place.

"C'mon, Sunshine, time ta go," he said gruffly, reaching out to grip the yellow shoulder. "Don't make me make ya." Sunstreaker glared at the offending hand, but the weapons specialist refused to relinquish his hold.

"He was just helping me," Ratchet interjected dully, his attention divided between Wheeljack and the drama unfolding around Sunstreaker. The yellow Lamborghini did not take long to reach the point where he looked ready to launch himself at Ironhide—except Wheeljack chose that exact moment to come to.

The inventor groaned and said weakly, "Did anyone get the license plate of that truck?"

Ratchet stared at him for nearly a minute without saying a word, his face screwed up in a strangely unreadable expression—and then hit him over the head with a resounding clang.

"YOU…! You… stupid…" He struggled for a few more moments, and when words refused to come, he settled for hitting Wheeljack again before narrowly stopping himself from babbling apologetically as the Lancia's vocalizer emitted a pitiful whine.

"Ooohh, Primus," Wheeljack moaned, and Sunstreaker sprang into action, shrugging off Ironhide's hand and saying "C'mon Sides," as he reached down to grip the inventor under the arms. "Get his feet," he added crossly, when no one moved.

Sideswipe scrambled to obey his brother, obviously unnerved by the yellow twin's behavior. "Easy," the red Lamborghini muttered, gently helping his brother lift Wheeljack off of the floor as the inventor made little pained noises.

Everyone except Sunstreaker jumped when someone made a nervous sound—much like a human clearing his throat—and they looked around to the door when Bumblebee stuck his head in and asked, apparently amazed at the extent of the damage, "Is he… gonna be alright?"

"If we ever get him back to the medbay," Ratchet replied irritably, glaring equally at everyone and to all appearances having regained his equilibrium.

This comment seemed to kick-start everyone else, and they all began clearing a path so that neither of the twins would trip over anything on their way out with their injured burden.

Just as they began to pass Prime, though, the Autobot leader held out a hand to Sunstreaker and stopped him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, catching and holding the yellow warrior's optics. Sunstreaker nodded slowly in confused acceptance, and Optimus pulled back and gathered his resolve. "You're still confined to quarters, though—and I expect you back there when you're finished helping with him." A gesture indicated Wheeljack. Sunstreaker nodded again, and the twins carried the once-again unconscious inventor to the medbay.

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Ratchet rubbed a hand across his face wearily; Wheeljack was in far worse shape than Gears had been. At least Sunstreaker had deliberately avoided damaging any vital areas so as not to kill the little 'Bot—the explosion the inventor had inadvertently set off had caused dangerous fluctuations in several of his essential systems.

He kept drifting in and out of consciousness, and was rarely as lucid as he had been when he first woke up back in his lab. Several times Ratchet had had to have Swoop or the twins hold his friend down while he and First Aid painstakingly removed the scorched and melted components, and it ripped at his spark to hear the engineer scream—but his pain receptors had been mostly fused to his chassis by the heat and could not be disabled except by scraping them off, which was an excruciating process.

The medic drew a deep draught of air into his intakes to steel himself for another round; it was a mistake, since all it did was flood his olfactory sensors with the scent of burning electronics and overheated metal. He coughed a little, and First Aid patted his back sympathetically. He glanced up at the Protectobot just in time to see the pained expression leave his face as he schooled his features into impassivity, and was abruptly reminded that seeing his creator so badly damaged had to be taking its toll on the young 'Bot.

"Him Wheeljack will be alright," Swoop commented in what he probably hoped was a soothing tone—except his own worry shone through like a beacon. The Dinobot had just as much cause to be concerned as First Aid, after all.

Sideswipe decided to put his two cents in. "Yeah, Ratchet can fix anything," he said, the light of conviction shining in his optics.

"You have a great deal of faith in me," Ratchet replied unsteadily, reaching down to begin prying at another cluster of fused relays while Wheeljack was still offline.

"Why shouldn't we?" Sunstreaker asked, lifting his optics from studying the floor. "You've put _us_ back together when we were so slagged everyone thought we were deactivated for sure."

Sideswipe nodded in agreement. "Sunny's right—we'd be very dead if it weren't for you. You wouldn't have even been chosen for this outfit's chief medical officer if you weren't 'the cream of the crop' as the humans say. You're the best Cybertron has to offer, and you've proven it again and again—that's why we have faith in you." He eased around the repair table and slid his arms around Ratchet's waist without disturbing the work the medic was doing and whispered softly, "It'll be alright—we're here, we love you." Ratchet just stood and trembled in his arms for a moment, then Sideswipe let go of him, and he forced himself to finish pulling the clump of relays free and dump them on the floor with the rest of the ruined parts.

"Primus, please let them be right—please let him pull through," the medic breathed softly, so no one would hear him. He picked up a new relay cluster and carefully soldered it into place, and nearly jumped when Wheeljack hissed in pain. He was awake again.

Ratchet looked up into the fitfully flickering optics of his oldest friend. "That bad, huh?" Wheeljack wheezed—at least he had stabilized to the point that he was coherent again.

The medic looked away, no longer able to meet his friend's gaze. "You'll be fine," he muttered, going back to his work just as First Aid began again on the inventor's other side.

"Liar," Wheeljack accused weakly. "If I were fine, you'd be yelling at the top of your vocalizer." He grunted as First Aid, as gently as he could, scraped a melted wire off of his frame. "Easy, 'Aid," he said irritably.

"I _am_ being easy," the Protectobot retorted under his breath.

Ratchet got the sense that Wheeljack was grinning beneath his facemask. "You're rubbing off on him, Ratch," he said with a chuckle that turned into a hiss of pain when First Aid deliberately tugged a little too hard on his wiring. "Yup, definitely rubbing off on him," he finished ruefully. If his headfins hadn't been just as blasted as the rest of him, they would probably have been flashing in amusement.

"Hot Spot thinks so, too," the Protectobot murmured, sounding amused himself—he was no longer as distraught now that his creator was coherent and talking to them.

The inventor uttered a choked cry when Ratchet removed another pain receptor, followed by a sigh of relief as the sensation in the area was deadened.

"Sorry," Ratchet muttered, seemingly embarrassed by his inability to keep Wheeljack out of pain.

"'S alright," the engineer mumbled. "Hey, I thought Sunny was confined to quarters?" His optics had lit on the twins, standing a little apart from the medics clustered around the repair table. Swoop took it on himself to explain, abruptly leaning into Wheeljack's field of vision and startling the Lancia.

"Him Prime said it OK that him Sunstreaker stay here," the Dinobot chirped, overtly ecstatic that Wheeljack was awake and aware again.

"Hello, Swoop," Wheeljack said faintly, staring with wide optics at the pterosaur.

"Hello, Wheeljack!" Swoop replied happily before going back to what he'd been doing—digging through the supplies for the parts and pieces Ratchet and First Aid would need to put the inventor back together. Sideswipe snickered at the Dinobot's childlike behavior, and Ratchet could not completely repress a smile.

It quickly withered in the face of Wheeljack's injuries, however, and his focus sharpened when the engineer whispered unsteadily, "Well that's not good," at the same time that the monitors displaying the status of all of his vital systems began flashing warnings.

"Frag!" Ratchet snarled—a primary energon pump had ceased functioning.

"Ratchet, what—" Sideswipe began, taking a step toward the medic in alarm.

"Everyone but First Aid, out!" the CMO snapped. "His primary energon pump has failed," he told the junior medic, using a laser scalpel to cut into the protective layers that had partially melted into the pump. He looked up for a moment to see the twins and Swoop still standing where they had been as though transfixed by the scene. "OUT!" he roared, flinging the scalpel in their general direction, and they scattered like a covey of quail, darting out of the door. They knew better than to test the ambulance when a patient's life was on the line.

First Aid wordlessly retrieved the tool and held it out to him along with a new pump. Face grim, Ratchet accepted both, and wrenched open the panel hiding the failed component. He winced at what he saw, then got to work.

"Don't you dare die on me, you slagger," he muttered despairingly.

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"Hey, what's going on?" a voice cried as they escaped the medbay, and they looked around to see Jazz rising from where he had sat against the wall beside the door, waiting for news. Prowl, Ironhide, Bluestreak, and Bumblebee stood nearby, presumably for the same reason.

Sunstreaker just shook his head forebodingly, and stalked into the quarters the twins shared with Ratchet, shutting the door behind himself.

All optics turned to Sideswipe expectantly.

"So how's 'e doin', Sides?" Ironhide drawled, expression worried.

Sideswipe gave the weapons specialist a weary look. "We were chased out of the medbay, if that gives you any clue," he replied. "I'm no medic, but I don't think it's looking too good," he added, unhappily. Sunstreaker's concern may have been solely for Ratchet's well-being, but the red Lamborghini genuinely liked Wheeljack, and it bothered him to think that the easy-going mech might be dying in there.

Swoop made a mournful, keening noise deep in his throat and fled, no doubt seeking the comfort of his brothers. The others stared after him in undisguised sorrow.

"Poor kid," Ironhide said gruffly. Everyone nodded and murmured agreement. By unspoken consensus, they all picked a place along the wall to settle back down and wait.

No one spoke as the time stretched into hours; even Bluestreak was silent. Eventually Prime came and joined them as well, and was disappointed to hear that no more news had been forthcoming since everyone had been ejected from the medbay.

It was beginning to make Sideswipe antsy. He reached out along the reassuring thread of the bond with his brother, feeling Sunstreaker's presence reach out to him in return and enfold him for mutual comfort. He allowed himself to be swept up in his twin's consciousness, relaxing in the feeling of _wholeness_ it gave him and knowing that Sunstreaker felt the same no matter how much they got on each others' nerves.

It was unnerving to them that they couldn't reach out to Ratchet in the same way that they reached out to each other; they came close during interfacing, but it felt somehow incomplete—and they suddenly realized that they wanted it to be, that they needed to be able to touch their lover's mind and _know_ that he was alright, that he loved them.

::Do you think he would bond with us?:: one part of the entity that was Sideswipe-and-Sunstreaker asked the other.

::I don't know,:: the other replied. ::It's not something that's really done anymore.::

::I wish he would,:: the first said wistfully.

::So do I,:: his brother answered. Whatever else might have been said was lost, however, when an exhausted-looking Ratchet emerged from the medbay. Sideswipe disengaged himself from the bond and rushed to envelop the tired CMO in a comforting embrace. Sunstreaker was suddenly there as well, wrapping his arms around both of them, and the medic allowed them to support him for a moment.

"Are you ok?" one of them asked quietly, and he nodded wordlessly before pulling free of them to look at Prime.

"Wheeljack is stable," he announced, and there were suddenly relieved grins all around. Bluestreak began babbling excitedly to Ironhide, Prowl clutched Jazz's hand tightly while the saboteur's smile threatened to engulf his face, and Prime's tension visibly faded. Bumblebee said something to the effect of telling everyone else the good news, and took off toward the common room.

Ratchet held up a hand to forestall any further celebration. "He's not completely out of the woods yet," he said warningly. "Considering the extent of the damage, it will be a while before he's fully functional again—he melted most of his outer plating to his frame, and that's not easy to fix—but all of his core systems are online. He'll live."

Prime nodded. "Keep me informed," he said. His optics flicked over to Sunstreaker, and he visibly made the decision to say nothing about the yellow twin's apparent inability to obey orders and stay in his room. Sunstreaker, not an unobservant mech, noticed this and, with a surprisingly gentle kiss for Ratchet, disappeared back into his quarters without having to be told.

"I do believe that's the first time I've ever seen him do something like that without a fight," Prowl remarked, staring after the yellow Lamborghini thoughtfully.

"Hmm," Jazz said. He tugged at the hand still tangled with his own. "C'mon, Prowler, we gotta get in some recharge before our shifts start." The tactician followed the Porsche without protest, and the others left as well.

Ratchet let himself sink back into Sideswipe's arms once everyone was out of sight.

"Is First Aid staying with him?" the red Lamborghini asked, pressing a kiss to the top of the white head.

"Yeah, he wanted to," Ratchet murmured, burying his face in Sideswipe's shoulder.

Sideswipe put his fingers under Ratchet's chin and tilted his head back up so he could look into the medic's optics. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Ratchet shuddered. "No," he whispered. "Primus, I need a drink." Sideswipe hmm-ed noncommittally and tightened his hold on the medic. "Scratch that, I need to get drunk," he corrected himself, causing Sideswipe to arch an optic ridge.

"I know this is gonna sound stupid coming from me, but I don't think you ought to overcharge tonight," the red twin said reproachfully. "I will gladly help you get plastered off your aft any other time you want, but not tonight, ok?"

"Why not?" Ratchet demanded, pulling back a little.

"Because you'll regret it tomorrow. Let me and Sunny take care of you tonight, alright?" When the medic looked like he might stub up and tell him to frag off, he added, softly, "Please?"

All the fight drained out of Ratchet at that. "Alright," he muttered dejectedly, letting Sideswipe guide him into their quarters.

"You shut me out, you fragger," Sunstreaker said when they walked in, favoring his brother with a dark glare.

::Don't fight with me now, Sunny,:: Sideswipe sent beseechingly. ::He needs us to stay calm.:: Sunstreaker glowered at him for a moment longer, then relented when he saw Ratchet's careworn expression. Together, they pulled the medic over to their berth and wrapped him up in a warm embrace. They were surprised when their lover's hands began roaming almost feverishly over their frames—seduction had not been how they'd planned to comfort the white 'Bot.

Apparently Ratchet had other ideas.

Years as their Chief Medical Officer had let Ratchet become nearly as familiar with the two warriors' bodies as he was with his own, and the past few weeks as their lover had taught him exactly how to touch them if he wanted to drive them wild. He put the knowledge to good use now, feeling his own desperate desire rising as his Lamborghini lovers responded.

They quickly went on the offensive, fingers caressing every sensitive circuit and sensor they could reach. Sideswipe kissed him fiercely; Sunstreaker nipped and bit along his neck and the underside of his jaw. Using only their hands and mouths, they shoved him gasping over the edge of overload—and he couldn't help but cry out when they connected themselves to him right in the middle of it.

This new tactic broke the last barriers in his mind—and Ratchet suddenly knew what it was like to be _one_ with another being. Their consciousnesses mingled with his; it became impossible to tell where one left off and another began. There was a sense of surprise from the part of them that was the twins, followed by a deep joy at being able to share with the medic what they had always shared with each other.

They soothed away the grief and fear that the-part-that-was-Ratchet had been feeling for his friend, until all that was left was their love and the knowledge that none of them ever need be alone again for as long as they functioned.

Through it all, the pleasure of their joining rose like a tide, until at last their overload broke over them like a cresting wave, and they fell into welcoming darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Yeah, this one's a little short, but I promise I'll make it up to you next chappy!

Special thanks to VAWitch for beta-ing, and to all my wonderful reviewers for reviewing! Love ya!

* * *

Ratchet came online slowly. Out of curiosity he checked his chrono; he was unsurprised to find that it had been several hours since he had offlined.

_Primus,_ he thought woozily. _I don't think I've ever had an overload that strong._ He frowned at a niggling sensation of pleased amusement—it felt somehow… foreign.

He unshuttered his optics to see Sideswipe watching him with heavy-lidded optics and a kind of lazy joy in his expression. He could feel Sunstreaker still curled up against his back, and somehow, without turning to look, he_knew_ that the yellow twin was still offline.

"Sideswipe…?" he murmured questioningly, returning his attention back to his red lover.

Sideswipe merely smiled enigmatically and kissed him with a tenderness that made Ratchet melt—until he suddenly felt the tentative brush of another mind against his own.

His new, uncanny awareness told him that Sunstreaker was awake—that it was _him_ reaching out almost instinctively to touch Ratchet's consciousness, that he craved the contact with an almost desperate need.

Memory came flooding back.

Ratchet scrambled off of the berth with a panicked yelp and turned to stare with wide optics at his two lovers.

"What have you done?" he asked, making a conscious effort to still his trembling.

"_We_ didn't do anything. _You_ bonded yourself to us last night," Sideswipe said, good humor fading from his optics and worry taking its place.

And Sunstreaker—Ratchet nearly flinched at the black wave of fear rolling off of the yellow mech. _He thinks I'm going to reject him,_ the medic realized, and before he knew what he was doing, he had sat back down and wrapped Sunny up in his arms, projecting his love along the newly-paved paths of the bond.

He clamped a tight lid down on his terror at this instinctive reaction to his bondmate's distress. _Primus! If I act like this just because he's upset, what happens if he gets hurt?_

There was a good reason lovers didn't bond to one another very often anymore—the war made such things impractical, if not downright dangerous, especially for the newly bonded. The desire to place your bonded as your number one priority was often overwhelming, particularly at first, and it made for a poor decision-making ability. For mechs like Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, who had been dealing with the effects of being bonded for their entire lives, it was something that could be worked around and dealt with. For a mech in the upper echelons of the command element like the Chief Medical Officer—who'd never even had a sibling, let alone a twin—such an impairment could be deadly, and not just to himself.

Not to mention the fact that being bonded to a set of twins was, as far as anyone knew, entirely new territory—there were certainly no records of it having ever happened, even before the war. It had been the general consensus that twins felt no need to be that close to another being—they already had each other.

"Whoever thought up that load of tripe was off his rocker," Sideswipe said quietly, and Ratchet realized that his thoughts were not quite as private as he'd hoped. "Besides, how do you know that no one else ever bonded to a set of twins?"

Ratchet absently stroked Sunstreaker's back to soothe the yellow brother's trembling and replied, "Because every set of twins ever created on Cybertron—including you two, whether you know it or not—were carefully documented. A twinned spark was a rare enough mutation that a lot of mechs felt it warranted studying."

Sideswipe blinked in surprise at that; apparently he hadn't known. "Oh," he said sheepishly. "You know fragging _everything_, don't you?"

"My data storage capacity is not endless," Ratchet returned dryly. "It only _seems_ like I know everything. _And_ you'll be pleased to hear that not much data other than your existence was recorded in your file—the war interfered."

"Gee, that's comforting," Sideswipe said sarcastically, leaning his head against the medic's shoulder opposite his brother. After a moment, he raised back up to look at Ratchet again as something occurred to him. "Were you one of the ones who felt it 'warranted studying'?"

The CMO regarded him thoughtfully. "I won't deny I thought it was a fascinating subject—but I didn't actively seek knowledge of it until we had a set come through the facility where I worked as an intern. It was at the beginning of the war, and they were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"So what happened?" Sunstreaker asked, finally deciding to calm down and contribute to the conversation.

"One died. The other went into shock and followed soon after, even though his wounds were relatively minor. There was nothing anyone could do, and Primus knows we tried." Ratchet shivered as, unbidden, the image of _his_ twins superimposed itself over the one of the dead pair in his memory—

"Don't think that," Sunstreaker said harshly, wrapping his arms more securely around the medic.

"Yeah, you might scare Sunny," Sideswipe drawled, and they both got the distinct impression that he was deliberately trying to lighten the mood. Sunstreaker went along with it.

"Shut up, you aft-head," the yellow mech snarled, reaching past Ratchet to take a swing at his brother.

Sideswipe leaned out of the way, laughing. "Can't you come up with better than that, you smoking pile of scrap?"

"I'll show you smoking pile of scrap—"

"Alright, that's enough," Ratchet interrupted, tired of being in between the squabbling twins—and still feeling more than a little overwhelmed at realizing he was now bonded to the two rowdiest mechs on the roster.

Which made them the two most likely to be injured.

_Primus_, his head hurt.

"We're sorry… Primus, Ratch, we keep hurting you and we don't mean to," Sideswipe said, sobering in the face of the medic's unhappiness. He gently stroked along the ambulance's crest and down the edge of his helm. "We were so happy that we didn't stop to give you time to adjust."

"I suppose it does take some getting used to," Ratchet murmured, almost brokenly.

"We wouldn't know," Sunstreaker whispered. "We've never known any other way."

Ratchet nodded, then disentangled himself from his lovers and stood. "Regardless, I need to get back to the medbay and relieve First Aid."

It was only after he left the room that he realized none of them had actually spoken a word.

* * *

Wheeljack hurt all over.

Nothing on his frame had completely escaped damage—and even the new parts ached with the itchy tightness of fresh repairs.

Ratchet would never let him hear the end of this, he was certain.

The Lancia had awakened less than an hour ago to see First Aid slumped over in a chair deep in recharge, the poor sparkling. Wheeljack felt the familiar pang of regret that his creations had had to grow up far too quickly—it was really not fair that they had been shoved out into the middle of this war without the chance to just be kids.

_Nothing for it now,_ he thought ruefully, watching as 'Aid onlined when an alarm he'd set up warned him that Wheeljack was awake.

After stretching out the kinks in his stiff joints, the Protectobot came to stand beside Wheeljack. "How are you feeling?" he asked solicitously.

"Like I've been mauled by Devastator," the inventor rasped.

"Good!" snapped a voice from the door, and they looked up to see Ratchet stalk into the medbay. "Maybe you'll remember that the next time you feel like trying to commit suicide." The CMO glanced at his apprentice. "Get on back to your quarters and get in some recharge, kid. You look like you've been resting in a chair." First Aid left without protest.

"You do realize what you've done to yourself?" Ratchet asked icily, gathering up his tools to begin working on the engineer.

_Hoo boy, here comes Hurricane Ratchet,_ Wheeljack thought, and, wincing, he replied, "I can guess."

"Just in case you don't understand the full scope of it, let me explain it to you," the medic told him flatly. "First off, you have managed to fuse all of the dermal plating and some of the subdermal plating along the front of your body to your frame. Some of it has even melted into your circuitry. We've already replaced most of your wiring and essential relays, along with your primary energon pump." His voice became unsteady. "We actually lost you for a moment there, and how we kept your worthless spark from guttering out I'll never know—" Abruptly Ratchet's vocalizer shorted out with emotion and he shuttered his optics, unable to continue.

"Slag, Ratchet, I'm sorry…" the Lancia whispered, spark breaking.

"If only you would be more careful—" the CMO managed.

"I don't do it on purpose, Ratch, Primus knows I don't _like_ blowing myself up any more than you like putting me back together—"

A pause, then, softly, "I know."

The medic dragged First Aid's chair over beside the repair table Wheeljack lay on and flopped down into it, head in his hands.

"It ain't just having to fix me that's bothering you, is it?" the engineer asked gently.

"I don't know what to do, 'Jack," Ratchet wailed, distraught.

"About what?" Wheeljack tried to reach out to touch his friend comfortingly, but discovered that he couldn't move—and the attempt sent pain rippling up his arm. He clenched his jaws and kept it hidden until it passed.

"—bonded," Ratchet was saying when he was finally able to focus.

"…What?" he managed.

The medic finally looked at him with miserable optics. "I said, I'm bonded to them, Wheeljack," he whispered.

"Primus," the engineer breathed. "When? How?"

"When?" Ratchet mused. "Last night, or sometime this morning. And as for how, I think you already understand the mechanics of bonding." The medic gave his friend a wry look. His lips quirked in a small smile at Wheeljack's flabbergasted expression.

"That's not what I meant," Wheeljack replied, exasperated. Ratchet's smile withered and died.

"Honestly—I don't know. I was very… upset… last night. I needed them, and they were there—and all my firewalls came crashing down." The medic drew a deep, shaking draught of air into his intakes. "I wasn't really thinking when it happened; it was almost like instinct. And… oh, Primus, 'Jack, it was incredible—"

"Please spare me the details," Wheeljack interrupted dryly. "Right now I have no desire to hear what it's like 'facing with those two hellions."

Ratchet eyed him in amusement. "The first time it happened, you wanted to know all of it," he pointed out.

Wheeljack sniffed disdainfully. "That was then. This is now. Besides, I was only teasing you and you know it," he retorted.

Ratchet grinned evilly. "Are you sure you didn't want me to tell you about how Sideswipe likes to have his—"

"Shut up, _shut up_!" the engineer interrupted hastily. "La la la, I can't hear you!"

The medic's laughter was music to his audios.

"Feel better, now?" Wheeljack asked quietly, after his friend had recovered from his giggling.

Ratchet nodded and got to his feet. "Thanks, 'Jack," he said gratefully, laying a gentle hand on the engineer's shoulder, and then retrieving his toolkit. "Now, let's get you fixed."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I said I would make it up to you for the short chapter; so now I bring you: a super-fast update! cheers

Oh, and I officially love Wheeljack. As my stepdaughter would say, he is my friend.

Here's the usual love for my beta-reader and my reviewers: ya'll are freakin' awesome.

* * *

Sideswipe was officially jealous of Wheeljack.

He tried not to eavesdrop—he really did—but Ratchet was so new to being bonded that he was wide open to them without even realizing it.

It had to be bothering Sunstreaker too; he looked over at his brother to see him playing his video game with a scowl on his face. It couldn't have been caused by the game—Sunny was winning.

The fact that it had been _Wheeljack_ who had calmed their lover down when he was feeling skittish and uncertain about the new depth to their relationship was a major irritant, although they tried not to let it be. The fact that Ratchet had gone to Wheeljack about it in the first place had just plain hurt.

Oh, he wasn't worried that Ratchet would _leave_ them for Wheeljack—quite aside from the inventor's assurances that they were friends and nothing more, the bond left no room for doubts in that department. It was nearly impossible to hide anything from your bondmate, after all.

He fidgeted a little, looking back and forth between Sunstreaker and the door before coming to a decision.

Well, he didn't have anything better to do—he was off-duty today. "Sunny, I'm going to the medbay," he announced, and got a distracted "Whatever" in response.

He crossed the hall quickly and poked his head into the medbay before slipping inside. For a moment he simply stood just inside the door, watching as Ratchet worked and listening to the conversation.

"—Prime'll have my head on a platter," the medic was saying, pulling a scorched and twisted piece of armor plating off of Wheeljack and dumping it on the floor to be picked up later.

"Eh, maybe it won't be that bad," the inventor replied once he had stopped hissing in pain.

Ratchet gave him a pointed look. "He's already unhappy with me for insisting on dealing with Sunny's temper tantrums—what makes you think he won't go ballistic over me bonding to them?"

Wheeljack did his best to give the impression of a shrug, considering he was unable to move. "Worst he can do is throw you in the brig—and I don't think he can really afford to do so for long, since you're the only fully-trained medic we have."

Said medic made a dubious sound.

"Aw, he can't stay mad at you forever, Ratch. He'll have to give over sometime. How are the twin terrors taking it, anyway?"

Ratchet hesitated, and embarrassment colored his end of the bond. "I think maybe… Well, if I hadn't flipped out on them they would be perfectly fine with it. It's almost like they're… relieved about it. I keep getting this feeling that it made them uneasy to be unable to reach out to me the way they do to each other, especially Sunstreaker."

Sideswipe chose that moment to make himself known, and carefully insinuated himself into Ratchet's consciousness. The medic twitched nervously and both mechs looked up as the Lamborghini strode over to them.

Sideswipe couldn't help but smile a little when he felt Ratchet 'lean' tentatively into the mental contact and, just as tentatively, Sideswipe pressed his hand against the medic's back. With his mouth right next to Ratchet's audio, he whispered, "You tell him fragging everything, don't you?" He felt his lover stiffen and indignation flowed across their bond.

::Might I remind you that Wheeljack and I have been friends for longer than you've been functioning?:: Ratchet sent tartly.

::That just makes you old,:: Sideswipe sniped in return.

"You are not endearing yourself to me," the CMO said aloud, voice as dry as the Sahara. Wheeljack arched an optic ridge, but wisely kept his vocalizer mute.

::It bothers me and Sunny that you'll confide in him but not in us,:: the red Lamborghini admitted. Ratchet looked up at him in surprise.

"You mean to tell me that—even though I'm bonded to _you_—you're jealous? Of Wheeljack?"

The inventor made a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter, and Sideswipe had the grace to look embarrassed. "It does sound kinda stupid when you put it that way…" he muttered, hunching his shoulders.

Ratchet sighed and shut off his laser-cutter, and Wheeljack made an almost imperceptible sound of relief. "Look, Sides, I'm not trying to put you or Sunny down," the medic began.

"Hey, I'd be jealous too," Wheeljack quipped, and Ratchet thumped the side of the inventor's head with his fist.

"Quiet! You're not helping." The medic turned back to Sideswipe. "Pay no mind to him. The reason _he's_ jealous is because he's not getting any—"

"Ratchet!" Wheeljack squawked in a strangled voice while Sideswipe snorted with laughter—and the two lovers got a flash impression of Sunstreaker laughing helplessly while his video game character got mauled on the TV screen.

Apparently he'd been paying more attention to his bondmate and his twin than his game.

"Anyway," Ratchet continued, talking over the engineer's furious muttering once the amusement had died down, "As I was going to say, I love you and your brother very much—I'm bound to you now, for Primus' sake—but Wheeljack _is_ my friend. And friends have this annoying habit of telling each other things, especially when you've been together practically since you were sparklings. It's just something that you're going to have to learn to deal with." The medic paused when he saw Sideswipe's pained expression, and was not surprised when the red twin's next comment was mental—though it was still unnerving to hear the red warrior's voice in his head rather than his audios.

::It's not so much that you go to Wheeljack about this stuff as it is that you don't come to us,:: Sides said plaintively.

Ratchet opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again with a frown. "You've got a point," he admitted quietly.

Wheeljack looked confused. "About what?" he asked, looking from medic to warrior and back again.

"I haven't exactly been entrusting them with my concerns as much as I ought to have… and I'm sorry." He put an arm around Sideswipe's waist and leaned into him a little while Wheeljack gaped at him and demanded, "Who are you and what have you done with Ratchet?"

Ratchet ignored him and sent his apology across the bond to Sunstreaker—and was suddenly glad he was leaning up against Sideswipe when the yellow twin did the mental equivalent of tackling him. If Sideswipe's arm hadn't been around him he was pretty sure he would have fallen to the ground when Sunstreaker thrust himself fully into his mind.

Ratchet was abruptly aware that his yellow lover had longed to do this with him, and only the knowledge that he might overwhelm the medic had made him hold back this morning. Like a vague background noise, they could hear Sideswipe protesting for his brother to "take it easy!", but Sunstreaker paid no mind, sifting through Ratchet's emotions until he found the bright core of the medic's love for him. Ratchet could feel him stop then and bask in it, and the tension that the medic had been trying to soothe ever since the incident with Gears faded away as though it had never been. Relaxed and happy now, his own love wrapped around the ambulance like a warm and comforting blanket, and Ratchet couldn't help but surrender to the sensation.

Then Sunstreaker withdrew as suddenly as he'd come, and Ratchet sagged against Sideswipe, drained.

"—sorry rusting scrapheap!" Sideswipe was swearing worriedly. "The worthless scrapper shut me out!" he raged.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," Ratchet interrupted weakly, optics wide at the stream of vituperation his lover's vocalizer was spewing.

"You don't look alright," Wheeljack said grimly.

"I'm gonna kill him," Sideswipe vowed furiously. "He knows better than to pull a stunt like that."

"You're not gonna say a word to him," Ratchet snapped back, earning incredulous stares from his lover and his friend. "I mean it," he added firmly, seeing that both of them meant to argue. When Sideswipe _still_ looked likely to protest, he let him 'see' what his brother had done.

The red twin shut his mouth with an audible click. "That business with Gears really rattled him bad," he murmured, subconsciously tightening his hold on the medic. "You're sure you're alright?" he asked anxiously.

"Sides, I'm fine," Ratchet insisted, exasperated, and pulled away from the red mech. He regarded Sideswipe thoughtfully as he picked up his laser-cutter and switched it back on. "You're just as jumpy as I am about this whole thing, aren't you?" he asked in a gentle voice as he leaned back over Wheeljack to remove another section of ruined plating.

"I thought it wouldn't be so hard on us—we've been bonded to each other our whole lives—but it's completely different with you." Sideswipe admitted.

"That's because it's a completely different kind of bond," Wheeljack interjected once he had finished squirming underneath Ratchet's repair work. Sideswipe just blinked at him in confusion.

"But I thought all bonds worked the same way?"

Wheeljack snorted. "You know next to nothing about yourself, don't you boy?" he asked derisively, and Sideswipe bristled.

"If you fight in my medbay I'll use both of you for parts," Ratchet threatened. They each shot him a sour look.

"Forgive me if I found the war more important than studying," Sideswipe said coolly.

"That's as may be," Wheeljack replied, "but that's no excuse not to know the difference between a regular spark-bond and the one between twins—especially considering you and your brother are one of the few living sets of Cybertronian twins left."

The red Lamborghini crossed his arms in a huff. "So enlighten me," he growled.

"Where to begin…" Wheeljack mused, then yelped in pained startlement. "Primus, Ratchet, warn a mech!" The medic had switched from cutter to scalpel to begin the delicate work of removing the smaller bits and pieces of metal that had melted into his joints and servos—he'd already pulled off all of the scorched outer plating along the front of the engineer's body. Ratchet ignored him, digging into his elbow again.

Haltingly, hissing occasionally at the uncomfortable sensation of Ratchet rooting around in his elbow-joint, he started his explanation. "Ah!—Well, the reason that you two—mmph—are bonded to one another is because—by all rights—you should have been just one person. Easy, Ratchet! Your sparks are not whole in and of themselves, so they actively seek their other half. It was not something you had any control over or choice in—will you watch where you put that thing?—and it's not something you've ever had to think about, right?"

"Right," Sideswipe muttered.

"Flex your elbow," Ratchet interrupted, and Wheeljack did so, pleased that at least some part of his body worked now. The medic nodded in satisfaction and moved on.

"Well, a regular spark-bond is quite different in that you have to _choose_ to grant your partner that kind of access to your systems—it's completely voluntary, even if it is irreversible. And the part of his spark that binds itself to yours is foreign—your spark is not going to recognize it as part of itself, like it does with your brother. Fraggit, Ratchet, that hurts!" he bellowed when the medic poked a particularly delicate sensor in his knee. Ratchet continued to ignore him. Wheeljack glared.

"So that's why it's still a little… unsettling to feel him there alongside Sunny," Sideswipe mused thoughtfully.

"Yep," Wheeljack replied. "It probably will for a while, too—though at the same time you'll probably all three feel a little overprotective of one another. It's a side-effect of making yourself so dependent on someone else; your OS will automatically rearrange its priorities and insist on keeping them from harm."

Sideswipe nodded in understanding. "I think I get it now… thanks," he murmured.

"Bend your knee," Ratchet ordered, startling them both. Wheeljack complied—it wasn't perfect, but at least the joint wasn't locked up anymore.

There was silence for a few more moments while the ambulance moved to Wheeljack's other knee. "Do you really understand?" Ratchet whispered finally. "Are you aware that it won't matter now if someone else is in worse shape than you after a battle—that I'll have to fight myself to keep from working on you first? Did you realize that someone might die because my logic centers will be overridden when it comes to you and your brother?"

"No," Sideswipe said in a small voice. "It didn't occur to me."

Ratchet's breath hitched in his vents. "It occurred to me." He paused, then, "And it will occur to Prime, if he gets wind of this." He busied himself with Wheeljack's knee again, refusing to look at both of them. "He can't afford to take me off of the duty roster—but he also can't afford to have his Chief Medical Officer go on the fritz when someone's life is on the line."

::I'm sorry…:: Sideswipe sent, sorrow permeating his mental 'voice.' ::I'm so sorry…:: Sunstreaker noticed and sent an unspoken and concerned inquiry. Sides told him he'd tell him later, and his brother uncharacteristically subsided.

Ratchet finally glanced up at him. "Don't you dare blame yourself," he said firmly. "I dug my own hole with this one; it's not your fault at all. And besides, if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't change a thing." ::It's been centuries since I've loved—and been loved—this strongly.::

"But it is my fault," Sideswipe replied harshly. "If I'd never made that stupid bet—"

"I'm glad you made that bet," the medic interrupted wryly. "Oh, I could have cheerfully scrapped you at the time, but now… Well, even before someone dared you to seduce me, I had wondered what it might be like. I'd heard the stories they were telling about the pair of you—you'd think it was a badge of honor to have been with you two—but I'd convinced myself you'd never want an old 'Bot like me."

Sideswipe regarded him with amusement. "Stories, huh?" he teased.

Ratchet chuckled. "They didn't do you justice," he said in a low voice.

"Primus, spare me!" Wheeljack exclaimed, rolling his optics, and they couldn't help but laugh at him. "I really, _really_ don't want to know!" Ratchet and Sideswipe looked at each other and grinned evilly. Wheeljack's expression became horrified when he saw it. "No! Nonononono! Don't you dare—" But the big red mech had already wrapped his arms around his smaller white lover from behind and was trailing kisses up the side of his neck.

"Hmm…" Sideswipe murmured, pausing to gauge the effect they were having on the engineer. He snickered; Wheeljack looked positively sick. "You know," the Lamborghini said in a seductive tone, "I never heard any stories about you, but there was plenty of speculation… Not that anyone was ever brave enough to find out until me and Sunny…" He captured the medic's lips in a passionate kiss.

Wheeljack moaned pathetically, and they finally had pity on him and gave it up, laughing uproariously. "Ha, ha very funny," the inventor muttered, thoroughly embarrassed. "So glad I could amuse you," he added, glaring at them darkly when they kept giggling every time their optics met. "You're corrupting my friend," he told Sideswipe petulantly.

"Oh, he is not! We've been embarrassing each other like this for centuries," Ratchet reminded him, still smiling.

"And it's still not very nice."

"When you're the butt of the joke, maybe. I still recall the time that you—"

"Let's not get into that," Wheeljack said hastily. Ratchet laughed at him again.

"Oh, alright. Spoilsport."

Sideswipe arched an optic ridge; it was not often one got to hear the CMO and the engineer bantering like a couple of young Academy students. He decided that it ought to happen more often—anything that made Ratchet happy was a good thing, since almost everything seemed to have the opposite effect these days.

And, somewhere along the line, he discovered that his jealousy toward Wheeljack had dissipated like smoke on the wind.

Sideswipe stayed in the medbay for a little while longer, watching Ratchet work in silence as the medic and his best friend conversed, then headed back to their quarters to keep Sunny company until their bondmate came home.


	6. Chapter 6

Sunstreaker onlined slowly, luxuriating in the feel of the smaller 'Bot sprawled out against him. He and Ratchet were alone; he was pretty sure Sideswipe was in communications today. It was one of Ratchet's rare off days, and Sunny planned to make the most of it.

The last week and a half of his confinement—usually something that dragged on interminably, only making his temper worse—had flown by in a pleasant blur as they explored the depths of the new bond. It had been a long time since Sunstreaker had felt so contented. Let those minibots say what they would—Sunstreaker knew the truth of the matter, now.

And the truth was that Ratchet loved him.

He felt the medic stir beside him, reluctantly coming out of recharge, and he grinned at seeing those bright blue optics opening. He was irrationally pleased every time he managed to wake before his white lover—Ratchet's shift usually started before Sunstreaker onlined.

When he was sure that all of Ratchet's systems had finished booting up, he leaned over and captured the slightly parted lips in a kiss, and the medic responded with enthusiasm.

"You're insatiable," Ratchet laughed when Sunstreaker's fingers found their way into the sensitive seam between the plating of his waist and that of his hip.

"Mm-hmm," the yellow mech mumbled distractedly, not pausing in his assault on his lover's more delicate sensors. At the same time, he carefully entwined his mind with Ratchet's as thoroughly as they had entwined their bodies—and both of them moaned when the sensation doubled in intensity as echoes of what the other was feeling rolled through their processors.

It did not take long for them to have each other writhing and whimpering with need, and they both nearly overloaded the moment that connection was established. They stilled by unspoken agreement, panting to try and force cooler air through their vents in an effort to bring their system temperatures down to manageable levels and make this last a little longer.

Sunstreaker was the first to move again, shaking hands stroking over Ratchet's frame desperately. The medic mewled in pleasure and returned the favor as their consciousnesses fully merged and they became one.

Their overload struck them full-force and without warning; Sunstreaker was vaguely aware of Ratchet's vocalizer stuttering into silence and his own fingers leaving yellow streaks across the white chassis.

They lay still for a few moments after it finally faded, cooling fans working noisily to soothe overheated systems. "Mmm," Ratchet murmured. "Don't think I'll ever get used to that." Sunstreaker made a soft noise of agreement.

Sideswipe's 'voice' in their minds was a bucket of cold water.

::What in the _Pit_ was that?::

::What are you going on about now?:: Sunstreaker demanded.

::I think you know damn _well_ what I'm going on about! Blaster and Prowl are looking at me like I've grown a second head!:: the red twin snarled back.

Ratchet and Sunstreaker stared at each other with wide optics. ::You mean to tell me that you—:: Ratchet began carefully.

::Yes!:: was the aggravated reply.

::Oh, my…:: the medic said faintly. ::I hadn't thought that you might get caught up in it.::

::Oh this is rich. Prowl's asking me if I need you to have a look at me,:: Sideswipe said dryly, and Sunstreaker laughed.

::This is _so_ not funny, bro.:: The red warrior's exasperated reply only made his brother laugh harder, and Ratchet couldn't help but snicker himself.

::I'd like to watch you two just overload for no reason while you're supposed to be on duty—in front of Prowl, no less!—see how embarrassed you get,:: Sideswipe grumbled half-heartedly. ::I swear I think he already suspects something anyway, especially after that incident the other day.::

::I warned you about that, but did you listen to me? No, of course not—:: Ratchet complained.

::Shut up, Hatchet,:: Sideswipe muttered.

::Well, don't come crying to me next time the Seekers decide to play aerial soccer with your sorry chassis.::

Sideswipe snorted. ::You'd fritz out over _that_ a lot _worse_ than you did the other day. I mean, come on, Ratchet—it was all superficial damage and you said so yourself.::

::If you went by Ratchet's reaction, you'd have thought you were dying, bro,:: Sunstreaker chortled.

The medic growled at them. ::You'll laugh when you really _are_ dying and my processor locks up from panic. Who'll save your sorry skidplates then?::

::First Aid,:: Sideswipe deadpanned.

If Ratchet had been a horse, his ears would have been flat against his skull.

::Way to go, Siders, you pissed him off,:: Sunstreaker said caustically.

::You think?:: the medic spat, sitting up and climbing out of the berth.

::Look, Ratch, I'm sorry—::

::Save it, Sideswipe.::

The bond let the red twin feel the full force of the medic's anger and hurt, and the need to grovel and beg his way back into his bondmate's good graces battered at his self-control. Ratchet firmly ignored the apologetic wave of remorse that Sideswipe sent.

Finally Sides couldn't take it any more. ::Please, please, babe, don't be mad at me! I'm sorry!:: he pleaded. A pause, then, sensing a figurative chink in the medic's armor, he added::Honey? Sugar? Muffin?::

::You're pathetic.:: Ratchet couldn't keep himself from laughing at the ridiculousness of the human pet names.

::Yeah, but you love me anyway. Uh-oh. I gotta go. Prowl's giving me the Evil Eye,:: and with one last mental caress he was gone.

"Hmph. Sorry fragger," Ratchet muttered, still amused despite himself.

Sunstreaker got up and walked up behind the medic to wrap him up in a hug. "So what're we gonna do today?" he asked, propping his chin on Ratchet's shoulder.

Ratchet turned his head to see the yellow mech's face not a centimeter from his own. "Yeah, yesterday was the last day you were officially confined to quarters, wasn't it?" Sunstreaker nodded without removing his chin from its resting place.

"Yeah, but someone decided not to put me back on the active duty list until tomorrow, and I'm sick of the same damn walls and the same damn movies and the same damn video games. I want _out_."

Ratchet chuckled at his petulant tone, but inwardly (and buried deep, so his bondmates wouldn't sense it) he was concerned—he was well aware that Prime had arranged this 'free day' for him and Sunstreaker to see what the yellow Lamborghini would do. Ordinarily, after coming out of confinement like this, his temper would be a fearsome thing—woe betide the mech that crossed him—but right now he was as content as a cat with cream.

Of course, that could change at any moment.

One thing he had learned about Sunstreaker ages ago what that he was _not_ an easy-going or even-tempered mech.

"Is there anything in particular that you _want_ to do?" Ratchet asked, turning in the Lamborghini's embrace so that he faced him.

Sunstreaker leaned down and brushed a kiss across his lips. "Nothing in particular," he murmured. "Just away from here."

"Well, let's go get some energon, then, and we'll see how it goes from there."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Sunstreaker said cheerfully.

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When they walked into the lounge, all conversation stopped, and all optics turned to look at them.

Ratchet was not surprised by this—though it was a little unnerving—and he was glad that they'd had the foresight to patch up their paint before venturing into public areas. Sunstreaker scowled.

"What're you looking at?" the yellow mech barked, irritated. No one replied, but they ceased to be the center of attention. Sunstreaker glowered around the room for a few more moments before he was satisfied that no one else was looking at them.

"Get on with it, Sunshine," Ratchet grumbled, pushing the Lamborghini out of the way and heading for the energon dispenser. Sunstreaker grunted in annoyance and followed him, and once they got their cubes they selected the only empty table in the lounge.

Which was, unfortunately, right next to a table full of minibots—including Cliffjumper and Gears—and apparently, they still bore a grudge over one of their own getting mauled.

Of all of them, Bumblebee was the only one to greet them amiably; the rest either ignored them or glared openly, each according to his own temperament.

Surprisingly enough, Sunstreaker returned 'Bee's friendly greeting, and the little 'Bot took that as invitation to strike up a conversation.

"Bet you're glad to be out, eh, Sunstreaker?" 'Bee asked politely.

Sunstreaker nodded emphatically. "I think I'd rather be out getting my aft handed to me by the Coneheads than sitting in my quarters doing nothing."

"I'd imagine it's about as entertaining as watching paint dry," the Volkswagen remarked.

"Right about," Sunny agreed.

"Hey, did you hear about your brother this morning? Seems he fritzed out for a minute there, and no one knows why. Gave Prowl and Blaster a pretty good scare—they tried to get him to go to medical, but he wouldn't have it, said he was fine and he just wanted to finish his shift." Ratchet nearly choked on his energon.

Sunstreaker gave him a sidelong look. "No, Bumblebee, we hadn't heard, but I'm sure Sides would have said something to me if anything was wrong," he told the little Beetle sweetly.

"Oh, well that's—are you alright, Ratchet?" 'Bee practically radiated concern, but the medic waved him off.

"I'm fine, 'Bee—just got some energon in my intakes, is all," the ambulance muttered between coughs, embarrassed. 'Bee regarded him quizzically—something had to be up, but he wasn't quite sure what.

And considering the fact that the Lamborghini twins were involved, he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know.

Sunstreaker snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, tell us that again when you're done hacking up that intake valve."

Ratchet gave him an evil look. "Shut up, Sunstreaker."

Cliffjumper suddenly decided to add his two cents. "Yeah, shut up, Sunshine, no one wants to hear your vocalizer today."

"'Jumper!" Bumblebee hissed. "That was uncalled for." He glanced at Sunstreaker, and was alarmed to see the anger on the big yellow mech's face.

"I don't think it was uncalled for. I don't see how you can stand to sit there and chit-chat with that monster," Cliffjumper retorted, glaring at 'Bee and the two bigger 'Bots equally.

Sunstreaker was abruptly wound as taut as a bowstring. Ratchet laid a restraining hand on his arm. "Ignore him, Sunny." The bond practically quivered with the Lamborghini's anger.

::What's going on?:: Sideswipe asked, catching his brother's fury.

::Cliffjumper,:: Ratchet replied tersely.

::Frag,:: the red mech swore.

::I'll handle it,:: Ratchet said in his best 'don't argue with me' voice.

Sunstreaker barely spared the medic a glance, but Ratchet could feel him calm a little. Cliffjumper, however, could not resist baiting the bull.

The red minibot turned to Gears, saying loud enough for everyone to hear, "Don't know why Prime keeps him around anyway—he's about two steps from being a Decepticon, and he's just as dangerous—"

At about the time Cliffjumper got out 'Decepticon', Sunstreaker leaped at the red Porsche—and came to an abrupt halt with his hands around the minibot's neck when Prime's voice boomed, "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Sunstreaker snarled, giving Cliffjumper one last good shake before dropping him and backing up to press against Ratchet, who had stood to try and defuse the situation.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Optimus growled. His optics lit on Bumblebee, who was still in the shaky process of getting to his feet from where he'd thrown himself to the floor to avoid getting caught in the fight. "Bumblebee," he rumbled. "What happened here?"

'Bee opened his mouth to speak, but Cliffjumper talked over top of him. "He's a murderous traitor, is what happened!" he shrilled. "A Decepticon in Autobot colors—" Sunstreaker growled, and Cliffjumper subsided angrily.

Prime regarded him grimly. "I asked for Bumblebee to explain, Cliffjumper, not you," he said, then turned his attention back to the Volkswagen. "Go on, 'Bee," he encouraged.

"Well, sir…" 'Bee trailed off uncertainly, optics on Cliffjumper.

"It's alright, Bumblebee," Optimus said gently.

The yellow minibot visibly steeled himself. "Cliffjumper started it—" and suddenly there was a clamor of voices all trying to talk at once. Cliffjumper was protesting vehemently, and so was Gears; though there were a surprising number of mechs sticking up for Sunstreaker.

"Enough!" Optimus roared, and the silence was instantaneous. "Continue, 'Bee."

Bumblebee glanced around nervously. "We were just talking—honestly Sunny didn't do anything." He favored Cliffjumper with a glare, and the Porsche wilted a little. "'Jumper just started running his vocalizer, and you know how easy it is to tick Sunstreaker off," he added. Sunstreaker frowned at him, but 'Bee was unfazed by the look.

Prime nodded. "Very well—Cliffjumper, report to Prowl for punishment detail. And apologize to Sunstreaker," he announced.

"What?!" Cliffjumper squawked, startled.

"If your audios are malfunctioning, Ratchet can take a look at them for you," the CO said, amused. Ratchet snickered at Cliffjumper's horrified look.

"My audios are fine," he muttered.

"Well?" Optimus prompted.

The red Porsche seemed to collapse in on himself. Without looking at anyone, he mumbled, "I'm sorry,"

"What was that? I didn't quite catch it," Optimus said, optics twinkling in amusement at the minibot's discomfort.

"I said, 'I'm sorry, Sunstreaker!' There, are you happy?" Cliffjumper cried.

The big semi nodded again. "You may report to Prowl, now," he said magnanimously, and Cliffjumper made good his escape. "All right, everyone, show's over," he added, shooing the onlookers away. Bumblebee began to go back to his energon, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Thanks," Sunstreaker said, nearly flooring the smaller 'Bot.

"No problem—that's what friends are for, huh?" 'Bee replied, flabbergasted.

Sunstreaker nodded. "Yeah," he murmured, almost wonderingly. He patted 'Bee on the shoulder, then let him go and went back to his own drink. Ratchet, who had already sat back down, raised his cube to the Volkswagen in gratitude as Sunstreaker got himself settled, and 'Bee nodded in return.

In the meantime, Prime had gotten his own cube of energon and came to sit across from Ratchet and Sunstreaker. They nursed their energon in silence for a few moments, then Prime shifted uneasily.

"Sunstreaker," he said quietly, and the yellow mech looked up at him. "It has come to my attention that some of our number have not been treating you with respect—and for that I apologize. We have let this go on for far too long, but you may rest assured that we will do everything in our power to see that it stops. No one deserves such treatment."

Sunstreaker snorted. "I don't need your apologies, Prime," he said, shaking his head. "Or your help."

"Be that as it may," Optimus replied, "but I will not have any more of this pointless infighting, and it seems to me that there are others involved in this that are just as culpable as you have been."

The yellow Lamborghini 'hmphed' disdainfully, but didn't refute his CO's statement. After a few more minutes of being ignored by the yellow twin, Optimus finished his energon, nodded amiably to Ratchet, and left.

::Well?::

::Well, what, Sideswipe?:: Ratchet sent back irritably.

::Well, what happened?:: the red twin demanded. ::Sunny's not spitting mad anymore, so something must have happened.::

::Prime happened,:: Sunstreaker interjected sourly.

::Yeah, Prime came in right in the middle of it all, and now ol' 'Jumper is reporting to Prowl for punishment detail,:: Ratchet explained.

Sideswipe snickered. ::He just came in,:: he told them. ::You should see his face. He looks mad enough to chew nails and spit tacks. Oooh, and old Prowlie don't look too happy to see him. I think Prime gave him a heads up.::

Sunstreaker laughed out loud at that, and Ratchet had to cover his grin when Bumblebee looked at them questioningly.

"Sideswipe," Sunny explained. "He says Cliffjumper just reported to Prowl looking like he'd gotten some bad energon."

"Ah," 'Bee nodded his understanding. "Say, are you… alright? I mean, not all of us feel the way Cliffjumper does—" he added hastily, but Sunstreaker waved off his concern.

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine, and that little glitch will get what's coming to him from Prowl, so…" and Sunstreaker shrugged. Ratchet and 'Bee stared at him, mouths open in shock.

"What?" Sunny barked. "Why is it so hard to believe that I might be nice once in a while?" he demanded, then paused. "Especially to a friend?" he added softly.

"Because usually you're not very nice," Ratchet said dryly. Sunstreaker ignored his lover in favor of watching 'Bee's reaction.

"So I'm your friend?" 'Bee asked cautiously.

Sunny blinked owlishly at him. "Well, yeah… You said 'That's what friends are for', right? Doesn't that mean you're my friend?"

"I… I guess so," the Volkswagen said wonderingly. "Yeah," he added, a little more confident. "I guess it does."

Sunstreaker nodded sharply. "Good," he said, satisfied, and went back to his energon.

Ratchet was watching him as though he'd grown a second head. "Am I seeing things, or did you just make friends with Bumblebee?"

"Shove it up your exhaust, Ratchet," Sunstreaker grumbled.

"There's the Sunny I know and love," the medic quipped, earning a scowl. "Oh, and—thanks, but no." Sunstreaker 'hmphed' and looked away, obviously fighting a smile. Ratchet chuckled, then drained the last of his energon and stood.

"Come on, Sunstreaker," he said, watching the yellow Lamborghini finish his own cube. "Let's get out of the Ark for a while."

Sunstreaker simply looked at him for a few minutes, and then he nodded and stood. "Lead the way," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Wow. I am officially impressed--I now have more reviews for the six chapters of this story I have already posted than I have for the entirety of Twinning the Hatchet. You folks are awesome with the feedback--keep it comin'! XD

That said, this chappy's a doozy. Hope you like it.

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After being cooped up for so long, Sunstreaker couldn't seem to help behaving like an exuberant sparkling once they were clear of the base. Ratchet drove along at a more sedate pace, watching as Sunny zipped past him with engine roaring at full throttle, only to slam on his brakes and fishtail to a halt, where he would wait, revving impatiently, for Ratchet to pass him. 

Then he would start the process over again.

::You're gonna blow a valve seal or throw a push-rod if you keep that up,:: Ratchet commented wryly, amusement at the Lamborghini's antics coloring his tone, as Sunstreaker flew past him for perhaps the fifth time.

Sunstreaker scoffed. ::No I won't. Besides,:: he added flippantly::you'll fix me if I break something.:: He skidded to a stop again, tires squealing.

::Oh, I'll fix you all right,:: Ratchet grumbled. ::I'll leave your pain receptors online while I clean the oil out of your combustion chambers. And trust me, it wouldn't be pleasant.::

Sunstreaker's wordless reply roughly translated to 'Yeah right.' Ratchet grumbled some more about irreverent Lamborghinis.

::Can't you go any faster?:: Sunstreaker demanded after a few more games of 'pass the ambulance.'

::I can, but I'm not going to,:: was the laughing reply.

::Why not?:: the Lamborghini asked, astonished.

::You and your sports car mentality,:: Ratchet said ruefully. ::Well, for one thing, just because I _can_ go fast doesn't mean I _want_ to, and for another, I'm not _nearly_ as fast as you. My suspension is not as stiff, and I'm too top-heavy. I'm just not designed for the kinds of speeds you're capable of.::

Sunstreaker snorted. ::You'd change your mind if you'd seen the way those humans drive an ambulance. This one fellow I saw had to be going a hundred and ten. And there was one time I almost got broadsided—I heard the four-barrel kick in _way_ before he switched on his siren. He could've _ruined_ my paintjob.::

::I'd say he could have ruined a lot more than your paint, Sunny,:: Ratchet replied dryly. ::And anyway, I never said I couldn't top a hundred miles per hour. Just that I'm not capable of the speeds _you_ can reach,:: he added, speeding up a little as though to prove it. ::Give me _some_ credit. I just have no desire to speed.::

::Oh, come on, Ratch, loosen up and play a lit—Decepticons!:: His bantering tone changed to a hiss of fury, and three jets broke the sound barrier directly overhead within moments of one another.

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Sideswipe was just beginning to get bored at the communications console again when pain, sharp and hot and sudden, knifed through his processors.

He was vaguely aware of Prowl and Blaster calling to him frantically as he doubled over and fell to the floor.

"Sunny!" he gasped, writhing and panting as he felt hands on him, trying to hold him still. "Ratchet!" he shrieked, suddenly aware of the source of the pain. He and Sunstreaker had long ago learned to block one another's pain—otherwise they would never have been able to function in battle—but that was a trick Ratchet had not yet had to learn.

And then, as quickly as it had come, the pain was gone, only a faint ghosting remnant in his neural net reminding him of its existence. Ratchet must have figured out how to block it.

::RATCHET! RatchetRatchetRatchet—:: he shoved his mind into the bond, and nearly sagged with relief when the medic responded—though the weakness in Ratchet's mental presence was worrying, as was Sunstreaker's lack of response.

::We're still alive,:: Ratchet said firmly. ::Sunstreaker is just out of it. We managed to pull the same trick you did and hide in a cave, though.::

::What happened?:: Sideswipe demanded. Now that he knew that both his bondmate and his brother were alive, the unthinking panic was starting to subside somewhat.

::We ran into Starscream and his cronies,:: Ratchet couldn't stop a brief flash of pain from leaking into the bond, and Sideswipe flinched. ::Sorry,:: the medic muttered. ::I didn't really expect Screamer to shoot me—and I don't think his buddies expected it either. Thundercracker kept muttering something about bringing the wrath of Prime down on their heads.::

Sideswipe growled. ::He'll bring the wrath of Sideswipe down on his head, for sure.:: Abruptly Sides became aware of the crowd of mechs around him; First Aid and Optimus Prime swam into focus right in front of his optics. The rest had remained at a respectful distance—though whether it was out of respect for Sideswipe or respect for Prime the red Lamborghini was not certain.

And then Sideswipe realized that he'd been so immersed in the bond that he'd done something that he rarely did, and had never done in public: he had voiced the conversation—both sides of it—out loud.

"Oh, Primus, kill me," he moaned, seeing the unreadable look on Prime's faceplate and, just over Optimus' shoulder, Prowl's knowing one. He flung one arm over his optics so he wouldn't have to look at them.

::What? What happened?:: Ratchet asked, his own panic feeding off of Sideswipe's.

::I think I just gave us away. To fragging _everyone_,:: the red mech replied unhappily.

::Oh,:: the ambulance said faintly, stunned by _that_ little revelation.

"Sideswipe," Optimus said with quiet authority, "when we get back I expect a full explanation. For now, though—take us to them." Sideswipe nodded his acquiescence and stood on shaky legs.

"Come on, Sides," Jazz said quietly, stepping away from the crowd of onlookers to grip the red twin's elbow just as Prowl did the same on the other side. Sideswipe was embarrassed to realize that he actually _needed_ the support—at least at first.

"It's not easy, is it?" Prowl murmured in a soft, wry voice as they walked a little ahead of the mob.

"I—what?" Sideswipe asked, turning to look at the tactician in confusion.

"Being bonded," Jazz replied in a quiet, albeit conversational, tone. "To someone other than Sunny, I mean," he clarified, seeing Sideswipe's dumbfounded look.

"Are you saying that you two—" he began numbly, now staring at Jazz.

"Yup," the saboteur said calmly. "Easy there, Siders," he added, catching the red Lamborghini when he tripped over his own feet in shock.

"But—how long—" Sideswipe stammered.

"Right after we woke from stasis," Prowl interjected, steadying him from the other side. "We decided that four million years was long enough to wait, especially since we didn't know how long we might have left."

"Does… Prime know?"

Jazz snorted. "O' course he does—'cause Prowl tells him fragging _everything_." He shot the tactician a pointed look; Sideswipe could tell that it was a bone of contention between them.

"It was a matter of tactical significance," Prowl protested defensively. "It could have affected the war effort. It _has_ affected the war effort."

The Porsche made a disbelieving sound.

"It _has_," the Datsun insisted. "I can't _stand_ sending you out in the field—"

"But you do it anyway," Jazz reminded him.

The Second-in-Command glared at him. "I don't have much of a choice, especially when—logically—you're the best mech for certain situations."

"Hey, you do your job, I do mine," Jazz said soothingly, reaching around Sideswipe's back to give the Datsun's shoulder a quick caress.

"You two are sickening," Sideswipe grumbled, the amusement in his optics belying his words.

The saboteur gave a bark of laughter. "Like you're any better!" he exclaimed, chortling. "Oh, _Ratchet,_" he simpered in exaggerated mimicry, and ducked out of the way with a gleeful laugh when the Lamborghini took a swipe at him.

"Shut up," the red twin growled, scowling.

"Can't you two be serious for once?" Prowl asked blandly, arching an optic ridge at the pair's antics.

Sideswipe didn't hear him. "Sunny's waking up," the Lamborghini murmured suddenly as they emerged from the Ark into the bright sunshine. "He's alright, just dazed—but I think Ratchet's hurt worse than he's letting on. Sunstreaker ain't too happy." In fact, Sunstreaker was on the edge of flipping out, but he wasn't going to tell _them_ that.

The tactician nodded. "We'd best hurry, then. Wheeljack! First Aid! Swoop!" he called, and the named mechs came hurrying up. "You'd better come with—Sideswipe thinks Ratchet's worse off than he's saying." Prowl hesitated, then added softly so that only the red Lamborghini could hear it, "Are you sure you're up to this? You can just give us the coordinates—I know that it has to be difficult, with both of them injured like this."

Sideswipe shook his head. "I can't stay behind, Prowl—I just can't. Besides, if the Decepticons are still there you'll need a good frontline fighter with you, and I'm nothing if not that."

Prowl nodded again in acceptance, and looked out over the jostling crowd of mechs gathered around them. "If you're off-duty, you can come—otherwise, back to your posts! The base won't run itself!" he barked, and more than one mech twitched guiltily and slunk back into the Ark.

Trust Prowl to think of everything, even at a time like this.

Prime—who, until this moment, had been content to stand back and observe Sideswipe's interactions with his first and second lieutenants—came forward and laid a gentle hand on the red twin's shoulder. He gave it a comforting squeeze before calling out, "Autobots! Transform and roll out!"

Nearly as one, they all sank into their alt-modes and took off, with Sideswipe, flanked by Jazz and Prowl, leading the way.

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He had come to the conclusion that, if he didn't go into stasis from loss of energon first, Sunstreaker was going to drive him crazy. Unfortunately, Ratchet didn't have the energy to do much more than raise his head up and glare at the yellow mech.

Sunstreaker's optics were far too bright and he had a dazed look on his face as he kept up his never-ending monologue about the damage one of the Seekers had done to his finish.

"Sunstreaker," the medic hissed. "Shut up!" The Lamborghini halted just long enough to look at him in confused surprise before picking right back up where he left off. "Primus," Ratchet moaned, letting his head fall back against the cave wall he had propped himself against, then froze when something blocked the light filtering into their little hole in the mountainside. Thankfully Sunstreaker fell silent as well—perhaps his circuits weren't as addled as Ratchet was afraid that they were.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Skywarp singsonged, giggling a little at his own cleverness. "Don't you want to come play with me, Autoscum?"

"Could you be any more stupid, 'Warp?" Starscream's shrill voice asked coldly. "They're not going to fall for that."

"Hey, that was uncalled for, Screamer," Skywarp pouted.

"Just find them, you idiot!" the Air Commander snarled, and there was the sound of metal hitting metal as Starscream apparently shoved his wingmate. "I had thought we'd killed those infernal brothers last time—now we can at least finish off the yellow one!"

"Yeah, but he's got their medic with him, Screamer," Thundercracker interjected, ever the voice of reason. "Prime'll be on us like white on rice if we kill off his medic."

"White on rice? Where'd you get that one, TC?" Skywarp couldn't resist asking.

"The Internet," was the reply.

The black and purple jet sighed happily. "I do love the Internet," he mused, then yelped when he was hit with a resounding clang.

"Frelling Pit, Screamer! What was that for?" he demanded.

"Less talk, more search!" Starscream growled. "We won't let them get away this time!"

Ratchet managed to scoot himself a little deeper into the cave—he could no longer see the entrance when he finally stopped—and Sunstreaker, unwilling even with his CPU half-scrambled to let his bondmate out of his sight, followed along to sit pressed against his side.

::We're almost there, love,:: Sideswipe's voice in his mind was a welcome intrusion—the last time he had spoken to them was to get their coordinates from the medic. Sunstreaker was still too out of it to be entirely coherent.

::Thank Primus,:: Ratchet sent back fervently. ::Please hurry.::

He must have blacked out for a moment, because the next thing he heard was Sideswipe's unmistakable war-whoop, followed by a deafening crash of metal as he collided with whichever Seeker had been his target. There was a shriek of rage and pain—it must have been Starscream. The ensuing battle was short-lived; the outnumbered Seekers quickly fled with their tails firmly between their legs.

Even Starscream knew better than to tangle with Optimus Prime without Megatron there to distract him.

"Cowards," Sunstreaker muttered, referring to the fleeing Seekers—it was the first he'd spoken since the Decepticon jets landed outside their little hiding spot. He looked a bit more lucid; not much, but at least he wasn't endlessly complaining about his paintjob anymore.

"They're down here," a voice that Ratchet recognized as Sideswipe's called from the mouth of the cave, and suddenly they were surrounded by friends, being lifted up and carried out into the sunlight—Ratchet blinked, was it still day?—apparently so, though it was afternoon now instead of morning.

Ratchet gaped at the number of mechs that had come to rescue them; all of the Dinobots had come, as well as the Protectobots—though the medic was pretty sure that was because Swoop and First Aid had come, and they had wanted to accompany their respective brothers—Jazz and Prowl were there, as well as Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Wheeljack, Mirage, Bluestreak, and Bumblebee. And, of course, Sideswipe was hovering worriedly, not sure whether to attend to his brother or his bondmate first.

Swoop detached himself from the rest of his brothers to go to Sunstreaker, while Wheeljack and First Aid knelt beside Ratchet. The medic knew that the yellow Lamborghini was not that badly hurt; his self-repair systems had already taken care of a great deal of the damage and he was beginning to be more alert and responsive.

As for Ratchet himself, however—well, the gaping hole in his side where Starscream's shot had hit him was certainly not helping him. He ran a quick self-diagnostic and found that his energon levels were at thirty percent and dropping; apparently he had a leak big enough that his self-repair was not able to seal it off.

He could feel the twins beginning to panic; he had not been able to completely block his thoughts from them. Sunstreaker pushed Swoop away, snarling for him to slag off, and he and his brother shoved their way over to sit beside the injured medic. Wheeljack frowned at them while he set up an energon transfusion, but wisely didn't say anything as Sideswipe moved to pull the medic's head into his lap and Sunstreaker gripped his bondmate's hand. First Aid just ignored them, continuing to probe the wound for leaks and sealing them.

Ratchet could already feel his fuel-starved systems strengthening. "Hey, I'm not dying," he protested quietly, squeezing Sunstreaker's hand and reaching up to twine his fingers with Sideswipe's.

"You shouldn't have even gotten hurt," Sunstreaker replied, leaning down to brush his lips against the medic's. "I should have protected you better."

"These things happen. You couldn't have known Skywarp would knock you half-silly—or that Starscream would shoot at me at all. They don't usually try to kill me, for some reason."

"It's because everyone loves you, you hateful thing," Sideswipe said teasingly, only the slightest tremor in his voice betraying his anxiety, "and they know that they'd have every last one of the Autobots down their throats if they did." The twins were doing a remarkable job of not letting on to everyone just how much of a nervous wreck they were.

"Damn straight," Wheeljack interjected cheerfully. He clamped off the tube he'd used to patch the medic into his own fuel lines and glanced up at First Aid, who nodded in return—he'd finished with the worst of the leaks—and began putting away his field kit. "Alright, Ratch, can ya transform?"

The medic frowned in concentration and started his transformation sequence once his bondmates had helped him to his feet, only to subside back into mech form with a strangled gasp of pain. "I'd definitely say that's a no," he managed, sagging into Sideswipe's arms and feeling energon trickling down the inside of his armor where one of the freshly sealed leaks had broken open. The red twin held him gently, supporting most of his weight while Sunstreaker placed a soothing hand on his back.

"I can take you back to the Ark," Prime offered, walking up to stand beside them, only a hint of the worry he undoubtedly felt showing through in his voice.

"I'd rather not be a burden," Ratchet muttered, embarrassed that Prime had even had to offer.

Suddenly everyone was protesting all at once.

"Nonsense—"

"Don't you dare think that you're a—!"

"You're not a burden—"

Prime waved them all into silence. "My old friend," he said heavily, "I will _never_ consider you a burden. Besides," he added, wryly amused, "how many times have you helped to tow my smoking chassis off of the field?"

Ratchet 'hmphed' and looked away, but he made no further protest when they loaded him into Prime's trailer.

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Whether it was out of compassion or a simple desire to have all three of them present, Prime didn't ask for his explanation until after Ratchet was back on his feet the next day. Of course, this gave the trio plenty of time to worry about and dread the confrontation. (If you put the word 'meeting' with the words 'Prime' and 'Sunstreaker', the end results were rarely very good. The yellow twin had the uncanny ability to annoy the slag out of the ordinarily even-tempered Autobot leader.)

Optimus had immediately sent out a summons upon hearing that his CMO was fully repaired, however, and now they stood, staring at his office door with some trepidation. Finally, hesitantly, Sideswipe gathered up his courage and pressed the button to let Prime know they were there, and the door slid silently open.

Optimus let them all troop into the room and shut the door behind themselves before saying anything, merely watching thoughtfully with hands clasped in front of him on his desk.

Finally, after letting them fidget nervously for a few moments, Prime spoke. "Sideswipe," he said grimly.

"Yessir?" Sideswipe twitched a little at being addressed first. Optimus' optics crinkled at little at the corners in amusement at that.

"First off, calm down. That goes for all of you. You're as jumpy as petro-rabbits," he said dryly. A speculative look came into his optics. "Though—am I correct in assuming that the nervousness is so bad because the bond amplifies it?" he asked, watching them shrewdly.

"That—yeah, that's right," Ratchet muttered, embarrassed. The twins just nodded, looking anywhere but at their commanding officer.

"Hmmm," Optimus murmured. "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe—you two _do_ realize that, by your actions, you've willingly endangered a ranking officer?"

The protests were sharp and immediate; the twins vehemently denied that they would ever put Ratchet in danger, while the medic insisted that it was _his_ actions that put them in this position.

Prime raised his hand for silence, and the three grudgingly complied. "Regardless of how this happened, the consequences are the same. If we lose one of you two on the field—something that, while not anything I wish to contemplate, is still a very real possibility—we may well lose our Chief Medical Officer as well. It is not unheard of for one bondmate to die after losing the other."

"We're well aware of that, Prime," Ratchet said grimly, getting that mulish look on his face that Optimus knew meant he was about to argue, but the CO stopped him before he could get started.

"I know that you're aware of it," he said succinctly. "What I want to know is, do these two fully understand the implications?" His attention turned completely to the twins. "You are among our best frontline fighters. There can be no doubt of that. But," he added, "as skilled as you are, the job that you do is deadly. Of this there can also be no doubt. We had already reconciled ourselves to the fact that, if we lost one of you, we would lose the other. Due to the nature of twins, this was a given. Now, however, your deaths may also take Ratchet's life as well—and, as much as you may hate to hear it, old friend—that is a blow from which we will likely not recover."

"Prime…" Sideswipe began, a little helplessly, but Optimus cut him off with a wave of his hand, and both twins shrank in on themselves, visibly upset. Even Ratchet hung his head, and he had been known to cut even Prime down to size with his sharp tongue.

Prime sighed softly. "There's nothing for it now, I suppose," he mused. "The deed is done, and there's no reversing it—and I cannot afford to take any of you off of the active duty roster. Ratchet?"

"Yes, Optimus?"

"How likely are the injuries that these two will undoubtedly sustain affect you? We've already seen yesterday that Sideswipe was momentarily incapacitated when you were shot," Prime said in a quiet voice.

Ratchet hesitated. "We've… been working on that. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have long since come up with a way that one can block the other from feeling his pain. The same technique should work for me, as well," he replied cautiously.

Optimus nodded. "Very well," he remarked, and then paused for a moment. "Just out of curiosity, how long have you…?" his voice trailed off, almost embarrassed at having asked.

Both twins grinned at Prime's discomfort, and Ratchet's lips twitched a little in amusement as he replied, "Since just after Wheeljack blew himself up that last time. I was very… upset… and, well… it just sort of happened. It wasn't exactly planned."

"Ah."

"Optimus," Ratchet said gently, seeing his friend's concerned expression and correctly guessing what was worrying him, "I am not unhappy with this. I don't think I really realized how much I wanted it, buried deep in the back of my processor, until it happened. Don't worry for my sake—the rewards are worth the sacrifices."

Both twins nodded emphatically. "Yeah, what he said," Sunstreaker quipped, speaking for the first time since they entered the office. They all chuckled over his comment, and, just like that, the tension was broken.

"So does this mean you're not gonna do anything to us?" Sunstreaker asked belligerently.

Prime regarded him with his expression still full of good humor. "I can hardly punish you three for something that I've let Jazz and Prowl get away with for years, now, can I?" he asked rhetorically.

Ratchet blinked. "Jazz and Prowl…?"

"Oh, yeah!" Sideswipe's hand smacked into his forehead. "They did tell me about that yesterday. I was just worried enough that I forgot about it. That's why I kept getting the feeling that Prowl suspected something—it's because he did. Both of them had already figured it out, actually."

Surprisingly, Optimus snickered at that. "I'll finally be able to definitely tell Jazz that Prowl _doesn't_ tell me everything. If it makes you feel any better," he confided, "I was completely oblivious."

Sideswipe snorted with laughter. "You're joking! Now that I think about it, we were about as obvious as a fist in the face," he chortled.

Prime shook his head. "I didn't have a clue," he replied, optics filled with laughter.

"All right, you three, get on out of here," Optimus said, amusement still twinkling in his optics. "Just—" they paused on their way out of the door, "be careful, will you?"

Sunstreaker gave his CO a searching look before nodding and replying firmly, "We will." The other two nodded their agreement, and they left.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I really had to fight this one onto the page--but both my twin and my beta swear it passes inspection, so here ya go.

Oh, and cookies to all my reviewers--ya'll are awesome.

EDIT: I have just realized that I forgot something. None of the games and/or copyrighted material mentioned in this fic belongs to me. If they did, I would be rich. I'm just borrowing them for a bit.

* * *

"Will it really kill you if we die?" Sunstreaker asked in a low voice as they walked down the corridor from Prime's office to their quarters. Ratchet winced a little at the brooding guilt that Sunny was obviously attempting to conceal from him. Sideswipe turned his head to look at them expectantly. 

"It's a possibility," he admitted softly—he wouldn't lie to them. "My spark is not dependent on yours for its existence, though, so there's a chance I'll survive your deaths," he added, trying to be encouraging.

"Only a chance?" Sideswipe inquired, sounding disheartened.

So much for encouraging.

"Sides…" He shuttered his optics for a moment, then opened them again to look at his bondmates. "The way that the bond works… I wouldn't _want_ to live if you died."

Sunstreaker went from depressed to livid in the space of a second. "Don't you_ dare_ say that," he hissed, fists clenched in anger. A glance at Sideswipe confirmed that he was just as furious as his twin.

"You're _way_ too important to just lie down and die," the red mech said in a hard, clipped tone. "You heard Prime in there!" he added fiercely.

The medic sighed. "Yes, and I also heard him say that there was nothing to be done for it now—and he was right. What will be, will be. It's one thing you learn, when you're a medic—some you can save, and others you can't, and sometimes you don't really know which it'll be or why."

The Lamborghini brothers' ire abruptly faded at that. "That is the most depressing thing I have ever heard," Sideswipe muttered, scuffing his feet along the floor. "How do you keep from going crazy?"

"Honestly?" Ratchet asked, and both twins nodded earnestly. "I throw things. If that doesn't work, getting plastered off my aft usually does." He shook his head. "I completely trashed my quarters after we lost those twins in Iacon," he added wryly. "It's… painful… to lose a perfectly healthy patient because his brother lies dead on another table." His optics took on a faraway look. "They were such dainty little things—real delicate and fragile-looking." He snorted. "They weren't fighters, that's for sure—worlds different from you two. We knew the minute we lost the first one; his brother just got this look in his optics, like he'd given up. We did what we could, but his mind was gone, and it didn't take long before he deactivated, as well." Ratchet shivered. "It didn't help with the guilt that their creator was some wealthy politician. There was a big fuss over it—they claimed we didn't try hard enough to save them. It was in all the news feeds at the time."

Looking both ways to make sure they were alone in the hall, Sunstreaker pulled him roughly into his arms. "Sorry you had to deal with all of that," he murmured, fingers stroking tenderly over the medic's head.

"I don't remember it," Sideswipe commented thoughtfully.

"It was a long time ago—you would have been too young to pay much attention when it happened," Ratchet replied, pulling free of Sunstreaker's embrace—though he left his fingers entwined with the yellow mech's, and pulled him on down the corridor toward their room. "I was fresh out of the Academy, myself." The door to their quarters came into sight; Wheeljack leaned against the wall beside it.

"So how'd it go?" the inventor asked, pushing away from the wall to stand straight as they approached.

"Better than expected," Ratchet replied warmly, clasping his friend's hand for a brief moment. "Prime's not the happiest 'Bot, but at least he's not ready to rip our heads off yet." He keyed in the entry code to the door, and they all stepped inside.

"Been a while since I visited," Wheeljack commented, taking in the changes the twins had made to the room since he had been in it last—he whistled when he saw the entertainment center they had set up. "Nice." He ran a finger along the spines of the games and movies stacked neatly on one of the upper shelves.

Just like that, the two Lamborghinis were distracted from their unpleasant moods. "Spike gets 'em for us," Sideswipe said, proud as a peacock over the collection he and his brother had amassed. "And the companies special-made us some controllers and consoles—but it's still a bit tricky switching out the games. It wasn't really practical to alter the size of the media, they said."

"I'll say this for the humans: they really know the entertainment business," Sunstreaker added, flopping down on the berth so that he lay on his back with his head and one arm hanging over the side and looking at them from his new upside-down perspective. His other arm he folded over his chestplate.

"You look ridiculous," Ratchet told him, amused, and Wheeljack laughed.

"You're the only mech I know of that can tell Sunstreaker he looks ridiculous and get away with it." The inventor chuckled at the yellow twin's disgruntled expression.

"Just for that, Ratchet, you owe me a wax," Sunstreaker growled, and Ratchet snorted derisively.

"No way."

"Here, 'Jack, check this one out, it's awesome," Sideswipe said, having completely ignored what was going on behind him. He pulled out a tiny hard-plastic case and showed it to Wheeljack.

The engineer dutifully leaned over to look at it. "'_Oddworld: Abe's Exoddus_'," he read, brow furrowing in his version of a frown. "Isn't exodus spelled with one 'd'?"

Sideswipe shrugged. "It's a game. They spell things funny all the time."

"I will never get over 'All your base are belong to us'," Sunstreaker chortled, rolling over and sitting up.

His brother snickered. "That was a case of really bad translation, bro," he said cheerfully.

"Umm… explanation?" Ratchet asked, looking confused.

The two brothers looked at each other and grinned.

"You see," Sideswipe began, still grinning like a Cheshire cat, "there was this really bad game—"

"_Zero Wing,_" Sunstreaker supplied agreeably.

"—and it completely and totally had no plot."

"And horrible gameplay."

"In other words, it sucked," Sideswipe summarized.

"So, to lessen the suckage and further the plot—"

"—they added an intro."

"Except it was in Japanese, and they didn't have time to translate it properly into English." Ratchet didn't think it was physically possible for the twins' grins to get wider, but they managed it somehow.

"Thus," Sideswipe concluded happily, "resulting in the rather awful phrase, 'All your base are belong to us'." For a moment, Ratchet thought he detected a hint of the red twin's 'scheming' look, but it was so fleeting that he figured he must have imagined it.

"Is this a… commonplace occurrence?" Wheeljack asked, bemused.

"Unfortunately, yes," Sideswipe replied. "It _does_ make for some hilarious stuff, though." He set his game back down on the shelf and made himself comfortable next to his brother on the berth.

"If you two know all that, you have way too much time on your hands," Ratchet said dryly.

"We knew that already," Wheeljack commented. "Speaking of which, I don't think there's been a single prank attributed to you in the past month—been too busy?"

Sideswipe's leering grin made him pause. "Oh, I've been pretty busy," he said slyly, glancing sidelong at Ratchet.

Ratchet snorted and looked away. "Don't embarrass me, 'Jack," he said calmly. "You won't like it."

"Ooh, is that a threat?" the inventor taunted cheerfully.

"You realize that we'll always side with Ratchet, right?" Sideswipe asked innocently, sending Wheeljack a meaningful look.

The engineer arched an optic ridge. "Point taken," he replied, amused. "Note to self: never prank Ratchet." He paused, then added cheekily, "Note to Sideswipe: never mess with the guy with the explosives."

"Point taken," Sideswipe laughed. "Hey, Ratch, come sit with us," he invited, patting the berth beside himself. Both twins had been more clingy than usual since he had gotten injured yesterday, trying to keep him as close as possible. It should have been suffocating—and before the bond, Ratchet most certainly would have taken their heads off for it—but now it was rather comforting, so he didn't quibble about walking over and sitting down between them. Wheeljack pulled a chair around to face them and settled himself in that.

Watching Ratchet thoughtfully, the engineer commented, "You're a lot calmer since you bonded with them, aren't you? I mean, when Huffer came in complaining about his joints again you didn't even yell at him all that much."

The medic looked at him in surprise. "Yeah… I guess I am," he admitted. He leaned into Sideswipe, who put an arm around him absently, and Sunstreaker rearranged himself so that he lay with his head in Ratchet's lap. The yellow twin made a soft noise of contentment and shuttered his optics as his bondmate gently stroked the vents framing his face.

Wheeljack heaved a gusty sigh. "It's enough to make a mech jealous, seeing you three so happy," he murmured, almost longingly.

Ratchet raised his head up from where he had laid it on Sideswipe's shoulder and watched his friend with sorrow in his optics. "It's been a long time, hasn't it, 'Jack? Since—"

"No!" Wheeljack interrupted in a sharp voice. "Don't even say the name," he added wearily. Both twins turned their optics to the inventor in curiosity. "And before you ask—no, I'm not going to tell you," he told them firmly. Sunstreaker just 'hmphed' and closed his optics again, and Sideswipe shrugged and said, "Whatever."

"I didn't think it really bothered you anymore," Ratchet murmured softly.

"It's… not as bad as it used to be. I still think about it, occasionally, but I'm mostly over it," Wheeljack admitted. "So," he added with forced cheer, "which of you boys wants to show me how one of these game consoles works? I've been itching to get my hands on one for a while…"

"I'll do it," Sideswipe replied quietly, standing and walking over to the entertainment center to set one up for the inventor. For a while, they let themselves become immersed in the game, laughing and cheering as Wheeljack, and then, after much wheedling, Ratchet, tried to figure out the controls. Finally, the two older mechs sat back and watched the twins play _Mortal Kombat_, animated blood spraying across the screen as their characters whaled on each other.

"That's disgusting," Ratchet commented as Sideswipe's character wrenched Sunstreaker's character's head off and held it up with the spine dangling. Sunstreaker growled and tossed the controller petulantly—though they all noticed that he took care not to throw it hard enough to break it. Sideswipe crowed in victory.

"If you don't get that finger out of my face, I will _break it off,_" the yellow mech snarled at his brother, and Sideswipe was quick to snatch his hand back with an alarmed look.

Ratchet and Wheeljack exchanged a look and then burst out laughing at the red mech's expression.

"Ha, ha, very funny," Sideswipe muttered with mock annoyance.

Wheeljack was still chuckling as he stood and stretched limbs gone stiff from sitting in one place for too long. "Well, as much fun as this has been, I'm out," he announced, fins flashing merrily. "I've got other things to do besides waste time with you three."

"We'll have to do this more often," the medic remarked, getting up to see his friend to the door.

"Definitely," the inventor replied, clapping Ratchet on the shoulder before walking out and letting the door shut behind him.

Before he even had the chance to turn around, a pair of red arms wound their way around him and began pulling him backwards toward the berth. One black hand splayed across his windshield while the other slid under the white armor to tweak sensitive wiring, and he couldn't help it—he gave an undignified squeak of surprise. Soft laughter sounded next to his audios, and he frowned a little and tried to get away.

"Hey now, where do you think you're going? I still haven't paid you back for yesterday morning," Sideswipe purred, arms tightening around the medic.

"That wasn't my fault," Ratchet protested breathily as the hand beneath his armor delved a little deeper. Sideswipe didn't reply at first, merely continuing to pull him backwards until finally Sunstreaker came into view. The yellow twin's attention was riveted on them, and the look in his optics was predatory.

Sunstreaker slithered off the berth, all sinuous grace and supple power. He never actually came close enough to touch, just watched intently as his brother dragged the medic onto the 'charge pad and continued to wring little cries from his vocalizer. Ratchet had to admit that it was a bit unnerving to know that Sunstreaker was just standing there, observing as Sideswipe seduced him thoroughly, even though he could still feel the little knot of his presence in the back of his mind through the bond.

The medic finally gathered the wits to respond to what Sideswipe was doing to him and flipped the red Lamborghini onto his back, taking the role of aggressor—not something he could generally pull off with these two—and making him writhe beneath him. He slowly gentled the exchange, caresses becoming softer and kisses sweeter but no less intense, and Sideswipe moaned throatily in response.

Sunstreaker was suddenly, finally, there with them, hands running over the medic's chassis with a need that he couldn't hide—and when the trembling golden fingers discovered an access port, Ratchet cried out and arched up into the touch. Moments later Sideswipe found another port, and, moving as one, both brothers linked their systems to his.

It was tender and almost sweet this time as they reaffirmed their bond; their movements were lazy and languid and the pleasure built in a slow deep burn as minds and sparks became fully meshed. Overload became an inferno that consumed them to ash—and it was in the aftermath, when their bodies felt liquid from the heat and their consciousnesses were still entwined, that Ratchet discovered the little hidden corner of memories in Sunstreaker's mind that he had never seen before.

He felt both twins stiffen against him, and nearly recoiled in surprise that they had purposefully kept something secret from him. He had not really shared memories with them before, since the here-and-now had been of more interest to them than the past—it threw him for a moment to realize that he really didn't know that much more about their past than he had when he had first met them—but he had never gotten the sense that they had anything to hide from him. He had certainly not concealed anything from them—his memories were as open to them as he had believed theirs to be to him.

Then he found out just what they were hiding.

"Oh, Sunny," he murmured, spark breaking at this latest revelation.

"Don't pity me!" Sunstreaker snarled, breaking away from the bond and disengaging the physical connection between them so roughly that Ratchet gasped in pain at the loss. He flung himself out of the berth to stand on unsteady feet, staring at the medic with something akin to betrayal in his optics. Sideswipe was a bit gentler about his withdrawal—but it still hurt to feel him pull away so completely.

"I'm sorry," Ratchet whispered hoarsely, scrambling to tuck himself into the corner of the berth by the wall and drawing himself up into a ball, arms wrapped around his knees. "Primus, Sunny—"

"Shut up—!"

"Sunstreaker!" Sideswipe abruptly snapped, glowering at his brother. "Don't you think he has a right to know?" The red twin turned to Ratchet, tugging carefully on the medic's arm in an attempt to pull him out of his corner, but Ratchet wouldn't budge. "C'mon, now, Ratch," he wheedled, fingers searching for a way to pry open the miserable ball of medic. "You just surprised us is all, now come outta there…" Finally the ambulance let Sideswipe coax him into his arms, and he huddled there, beyond upset.

Sunstreaker wavered, irresolute, before gingerly sitting back down on the berth beside them—though he made sure not to look at or touch either one of them. They sat in silence for long moments as the bond amplified all that they were feeling to the point that depression nearly swamped them. Finally, Sunstreaker spoke.

"You tell it, Siders, I don't think I can," he whispered, optics locked on the floor.

Hesitantly, Sideswipe nodded. "Alright… Hmm, where to start?"

"How about at the beginning?" Sunstreaker asked sarcastically, and Sideswipe glared at him.

"Do you want me to tell this or not?" the red Lamborghini demanded.

"I'd rather not, but better you than me," his brother snapped in return.

Sideswipe opened his mouth to say something back, and then shut it with an audible click and a wordless noise of frustration. More silence followed.

"This is not something we've ever told anyone else," Sideswipe said at last, arms tightening around the medic. "In fact, we've tried our best to forget it ourselves, but I think it's permanently imprinted in our databanks." He shook his head as though to clear it, and continued. "I guess I should start by saying that we're not really very trusting mechs. I guess it comes from being bonded to one another for our entire lives—we're so used to just _knowing_ where we stand with each other that it makes it hard not to second-guess an outsider. We were so relieved that you made the decision to bond with us," he confessed, "even if it _was_ subconscious." He caressed the white cheek with awed gratitude in his expression, and Sunstreaker eased just a little bit closer—and then Sideswipe surprised him by snaking out a hand and yanking him up flush against Ratchet's other side so that the medic was pressed between them. Sunny struggled for a few moments, then gave in and draped himself across his bondmate, letting Sideswipe support both of their weights and sighing in resigned contentment.

"It was so _stupid._ _I_ was so stupid," said Sunstreaker, burying his face in the crook of Ratchet's neck.

"You're not stupid," Ratchet protested automatically.

Sunstreaker shifted uneasily. "But you've said it yourself often enough," he said, raising his head a little. Ratchet winced.

"Then I apologize. I'm usually too mad—and too worried—to think about what I'm saying when someone's injured. And you two seem to end up in my medbay more than all the other Autobots combined," he replied, turning his head and finding Sunstreaker so close that their lips brushed as he spoke. The yellow mech closed the last millimeter between them in a light, chaste kiss.

"Hey, now," Sideswipe protested when he heard Sunstreaker's systems revving at the simple contact. "None of that—this'll never get dealt with otherwise." Sunny finally pulled away and laid his cheek against the medic's shoulder.

"Alright," he grumbled, shuttering his optics. "Go ahead and get it over with, Sides."

"In our defense, we were very young, and naïve. That's the only excuse I can come up with even now, so long after the fact." He started to say more, but Sunstreaker abruptly stood up. "Sunny?" he asked, concerned, but his brother only shook his head.

"I have to go," he said shortly, and escaped through the door before either of them could stop him.

Sideswipe sighed. "It probably would have done him good to hear it told, but I'm not surprised he couldn't make himself stay." He shook his head in unconscious imitation of Sunstreaker. "In any case, we were just barely out of adolescence when Sunstreaker met this pretty little femme-bot. She was quite a bit older than we were, and everything a mech could want—lovely and warm and sweet—and Sunny was smitten. At first she seemed like a dream, and I thought Sunny was so lucky to have met her, but the longer we knew her, the more something struck me as… off… about her. Sunny wouldn't hear a word against her, though. She had him wrapped around her little finger.

"Eventually, he began spending more time with her than with me—which, I'll admit, fragged me off pretty bad—and we argued about it. Then one day I'm going back to our room, just as she's running out, babbling that my brother's a monster, and that he tried to kill her. I admit she had some marks on her, but nothing worse than what he's put on you before—certainly nothing to have a fit over. I found Sunny sitting on his bunk looking like his world had been destroyed, and frag me if he didn't go after her the minute I got him calmed down, the idiot. You'd have thought he would have taken the hint and left her alone—"

"Sunny's too hard-headed for that," Ratchet interrupted, and Sideswipe smiled grimly.

"Yeah, ain't that the truth. Anyway, you gotta keep in mind that the war had just gotten into full swing, and both sides were recruiting heavily, and either faction would have been thrilled to acquire a set of twin frontline fighters like us."

"I don't see what that has to do with all of this…"

"I'm getting to that part," the red Lamborghini insisted. "Long story short, she was working for the Decepticons, and it was all a trick from the get-go. She _wanted_ Sunny to come after her—and when he caught up to her, she had all her big friends with her. They held him down for her while she tried to force a spark-bond on him. Apparently that was the latest Decepticon tactic—bind 'em to you so they'd have to join—and they'd developed a way to break past the firewalls that usually stop stuff like that from happening.

"For some reason, though, it didn't work on Sunny. He fought 'em off long enough for me to get there, and there wasn't much left of them when we got done. Primus, but it hurt like the Pit when they broke past his firewalls—he was transmitting to me in a panic, so I got caught up in it. Took us a while to get all our systems back up and running again, but once we did, we went straight away and signed up with the Autobots."

"Primus," Ratchet whispered. "No wonder he has issues."

"Sunny has good reasons for being the way he is," Sideswipe agreed. "But then, you knew that already—just not the specifics." Ratchet nodded, confirming his red lover's statement. "In any case, I'm pretty sure that was about when Megatron decided it wasn't worth losing so many already loyal soldiers over the possibility of gaining one or two. And you know what the crazy thing is? If she had asked, instead of trying to take, Sunny would have gone right along with her, and we would have been Decepticons now, instead of Autobots."

Ratchet shuddered. "We had heard rumors that things like that had been happening," he said quietly. He paused, then, thoughtfully, he added, "You know, it just occurred to me that the reason that the forced spark-bond didn't take had nothing to do with Sunny fighting it."

"I don't follow you," Sideswipe said, sounding confused.

"Well, think about it—a spark-bond requires two _whole_ sparks…"

Understanding dawned in the red twin's optics. "And we each only have half of one—Primus, the only reason we escaped that was because we're twins," he said in a horrified whisper.

Ratchet nodded grimly. "If what I suspect is true, then—yes. But… Primus, those rumors were never confirmed—"

"Well, now you know," Sideswipe replied darkly, and then added, "We'd better go find Sunny before he gets into trouble," and pulled the ambulance off of the berth with him.

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When they did find Sunstreaker, however, it completely threw both of them for a loop—he was sitting in the rec room, talking companionably with Bumblebee. Both mechs looked up when they entered, and 'Bee, kind little 'Bot that he was, motioned them over to sit with them.

The Volkswagen looked at them with some amusement in his optics as they approached. "Nice paintjob," he greeted them cheerfully. They looked at each other in surprise and realized that they were both streaked with smudges of red and yellow and white paint. A glance at Sunstreaker revealed the yellow mech's paint to be just as pristine as it had after he'd waxed it just this morning, and he gave them a gloating smirk.

Then they caught the glimpse of bare metal showing through on his fingertips. ::Slagger,:: Ratchet sent affectionately. ::You're just hiding it better.:: Sunstreaker's smirk grew wider.

Meanwhile, Sideswipe responded to 'Bee's teasing statement with a mild, "Yeah, it's my new look. You like it?" And he did a silly little pirouette, making all of them chuckle.

"It's fabulous," the minibot laughed. "Really suits you."

"I thought so," the red Lamborghini sighed theatrically. "I'll have to beat my admirers off with a stick. It's so hard being beautiful," he mused, and then yelped when Ratchet hit him.

"Fragging glitch," Sideswipe said in mock aggravation, grinning as he rubbed his dented head.

"Someone's jealous," Bumblebee giggled.

"Actually," Ratchet corrected, "_someone_ needs to have his ego deflated." He glared good-humoredly at his red bondmate. Sunstreaker snickered.

"Sooo, the rumors that you two are friends now must be true," Sideswipe commented.

"Apparently," 'Bee said, glancing sidelong at Sunstreaker, who nodded amiably. Ratchet could see that the little Volkswagen was still a little wary of this new relationship with the volatile Lamborghini, and the medic could understand his viewpoint—it was much like being friends with a tame lion. It may like you, but you never forget that it can rip your throat out.

Regardless, 'Bee was nothing if not loyal, and he took his responsibilities as a friend seriously—so whatever they had been talking about before Ratchet and Sideswipe entered the room, it had likely been aimed at cheering the big warrior up.

The weird thing was that, to all appearances, it had worked.

Neither of them said a word about what had been spoken between them before Sunstreaker's brother and bondmate had come in, and neither Lamborghini nor medic felt the need to press.

Not after the revelation in their quarters. _That_ was overwhelming enough for one day, Ratchet decided. If it made Sunstreaker happy, he was not about to quibble as long as it didn't involve maiming and/or killing.

They chatted pleasantly about nothing for a while, until Bumblebee's shift started and he had to leave—Sunstreaker patted the little 'Bot on the shoulder as he left, murmuring a soft, "Thanks", much to the other mechs' surprise.

"What?" Sunny demanded, seeing the unreadable looks they were giving him once 'Bee was gone.

"I love you," Ratchet said gently, and Sunstreaker twitched in startlement—and then his mind touched the medic's with a fierce, wordless reciprocation of the sentiment.

"You alright, bro?" Sideswipe asked, fingertips just barely brushing his brother's arm. Sunstreaker nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, nodding. "I will be. Sorry I took off. I was—" The unspoken word _afraid_ hung in the air.

Sideswipe waved away the yellow mech's embarrassment. "Hey, it's over and done with now—and he knows, and it's ok." Ratchet nodded in agreement, and reached out to grip his yellow bondmate's hand.

"Let's get back to our quarters, get some recharge in. Tomorrow starts early, and we've all got shifts in the morning," the medic suggested, and the twins followed his lead when he got up and headed for the door.


	9. Interlude aka Sideswipe Strikes Again

A/N: Here's a little interlude to tide ya'll over 'til chapter 9 is finished. :) I had originally intended for this to be in chapter 8, but it just didn't want to go in there. So, I scribbled this scene up in about 5 minutes while I was waiting for my next class to start, and figured that I'd make this a little gift since ya'll were kind enough to leave 100 reviews.

Oh, and LadyDragon2: LOL, I wondered what you were waiting for. ;p 100 reviews, YAY! --does a little happy dance--

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to my beta-reader, VAWitch, for being so awesome. 8D

Oh, yeah, and I don't own Zero Wing or Transformers. Just so you know.

* * *

It was midafternoon, and all was quiet in the medbay. 

So quiet, in fact, that the bay's sole occupant—usually the terror of injured Autobots everywhere—was curled up in a chair, recharging soundly. A datapad displaying a medical text in Cybertronian lay on his lap where it had fallen from limp fingers; it was a very peaceful scene.

Until Inferno barged in dragging a fretfully babbling Red Alert.

Ratchet started awake so violently that his chair fell over with a crash and, cursing fluently, it took him several moments to disentangle himself.

"His CPU's crashed again, Doc," Inferno grunted, still trying to wrestle the struggling Lamborghini onto a repair table.

"Fragging Primus on a pogo stick!" Ratchet snarled, clambering to his feet and kicking the poor abused chair. "What happened this time?"

Inferno growled over the sound of his friend's yammering that Decepticons were infiltrating the base. "Why don't you log in to your terminal and take a look?"

Ratchet stared at him in confusion for a moment. "What?" he asked.

"Go ahead—I'll keep him occupied for a minute while you check it out."

Bewildered, he walked over to the terminal that sat against the wall of the medbay and gaped at the message displayed when he signed in.

"_How are you gentlemen!!_

_All your base are belong to us._

_You are on the way to destruction._

_You have no chance to survive make your time._

_Ha ha ha ha …"_

He resisted the urge to beat his head against the wall and bellowed, "SIDESWIPE!!"


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: This one's a little short, but it defied all attempts to make it longer, so... --shrug--

Once again, thanks to VAWitch aka okami-myrrhibis for beta-ing and all my lovely reviewers for reviewing!

* * *

"I know it was you," Ratchet hissed when Sideswipe sauntered into the medbay after his patrol, and the red Lamborghini pressed his hand to his chestplate with fingers splayed as though to say, _Who, me?_

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sideswipe replied, optics sparkling with innocence.

"You know _fragging well_ what I'm talking about," the medic snarled, pointing to a peacefully recharging Red Alert. "Every one of you slagging Lambos are so damn high-strung—"

"What happened to him?" Sideswipe interrupted, staring at the other Lamborghini with a great deal of interest. Ratchet's jaws ground together with a squeal of metal, and Sideswipe looked to him in surprise.

"His fragging CPU crashed, that's what happened," the medic grated. "I_ know_ you had something to do with it, too, you sneaky little glitch. You can't hide it from me."

Sideswipe crossed his arms over his chestplate with a superior air. "Alright then, what have I supposedly done to crash Red's CPU?"

"Look, don't play dumb with me—you set Teletraan to display that fragging message every time someone logs in to any terminal in the Ark!" And to demonstrate he typed in his access code, stabbing a finger angrily at the monitor as the message in question popped up.

"Huh… well, will ya look at that," Sideswipe remarked, showing only polite interest. The medic growled, and the red Lamborghini's attention returned to his bondmate warily. He sent a tentative soothing overture to his riled white lover through their link, and recoiled as though struck when Ratchet rebuffed him.

_Primus, he's really furious,_ Sideswipe thought in shock, and he knew that Ratchet caught it when the medic's optics twitched almost imperceptibly.

"You're fragging right I'm furious," Ratchet hissed, poking Sideswipe hard in the chestplate. "D'you even _know_ how hard it is to reset Red's systems when he's fighting you every step of the way?_ Do you?_"

"I—" Sideswipe began, but Prowl chose that moment to make his entrance.

"Sideswipe. My office. Now." His clipped tone and the stiff way that he held his doorwings were the only indications of his ire; his expression was as calm as always. Sideswipe made one last attempt to placate Ratchet through their bond, and nearly staggered when the medic completely and effectively shut him out. Only the clenched white jaw gave the lie to the ambulance's composure; he didn't even look at the red Lamborghini when Sideswipe whispered his name in shock.

"Sideswipe," Prowl said, a hint of impatience coloring his voice.

Sideswipe followed the black and white Datsun without another word.

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Sideswipe was on his hands and knees scrubbing the floors on one of the lower decks when Ratchet finally sought him out. Guilt at overreacting at what was probably (for once) meant to be a harmless joke had gnawed at him all day, especially once Prowl had told him that Sideswipe had surprised him by readily owning up to having done it.

He had looked a little lost, Prowl had said, almost disapprovingly, and Sunstreaker had resolutely ignored him every time he had seen the yellow twin.

For a few moments he was content to stand and watch Sideswipe work, admiring the clean lines of his frame and the smooth interplay of gears. Not for the first time he wondered if the twins would have ever considered him as a lover if it hadn't been for a drunken bet.

"Probably not," Sideswipe said quietly, not looking up from his scrubbing. He dunked his brush in a bucket of cleaning solution and attacked another patch of floor. "Oh, we wondered in passing what you would be like, but I doubt we would have acted on it."

Well that was unexpectedly painful.

Sideswipe must have caught his wince, because he sat back on his heels and finally looked at the medic.

"Would you stop second-guessing yourself?" he asked irritably, sloshing cleaner out of the bucket when he dropped the brush in it. "Primus, you have about as much self-confidence as Bluestreak—would _you_ have ever seriously considered _us_ before we made that bet?"

Ratchet's jaw dropped at that, an automatic protest forming on his lips before he shut his mouth with an audible 'click'. "No," he admitted softly, not looking at Sideswipe.

"Thought so," the Lamborghini muttered, nodding to himself in satisfaction that he had proven his point.

Silence stretched between them after that like a living thing, broken only by the hushing sound of the brush as Sideswipe went back to work.

The Lamborghini stilled uncertainly when a red hand, clutching a brush of its own, appeared and began scrubbing alongside him. His optics traveled from the hand up the white arm, over the cross-marked shoulder and finally to the face of the mech it belonged to, but Ratchet was fully focused on the floor and the brush he'd apparently pulled from subspace.

"Ratchet—"

"I came to apologize," the medic interrupted in a matter-of-fact tone, and before they became lovers Sideswipe would never have noticed the fine tremors that shook the white and red frame. "I overreacted—please forgive me," Ratchet added in a whisper, brush-strokes faltering and stuttering to a halt.

"It hurt when you shut me out," Sideswipe said bluntly, but reached out and touched his lover's arm when the medic shrank in on himself. "Hey, listen to me before you start with the self-recrimination…" He paused, and then grinned almost despite himself. "See, I can use big words, too," he teased. "You're rubbing off on me, fraggit—but anyway: yeah, it hurt. But if I'm honest with myself, I can admit that, if I'd been that mad, I'd have probably done the same thing to you."

Ratchet looked up at him, startled, and Sideswipe sighed. "You would think," he mused, much to Ratchet's astonishment, "that after all this time I would have figured out that you're very protective of your patients. And, well… I realize that Sunny and I have caused more than a few of the injuries that've come through your medbay—you've got every right to be angry. In my defense, though, I never thought Red would freak out over that little message." He paused, and then added ruefully, "It's that old 'Sideswipe doesn't think before he acts' glitch, I guess."

"Gonna have to fix that sooner or later, I suppose," Ratchet murmured, lips quirking ever so slightly upward at the corners.

"Nah, I've long since come to the conclusion that it's incurable," Sideswipe replied, amused.

"Is that a firm diagnosis?" the medic asked teasingly. "And are you a fully qualified medic?"

"Uhh… I live with one! Does that count?" was the flippant response, and the red warrior pulled Ratchet into his embrace to the sound of the medic's laughter. "Please don't shut me out again, even if I deserve it," Sideswipe whispered into his lover's audio, and the ambulance nodded. As one, they reached for one another.

Both breathed a sigh of relief when their minds touched and merged, and each sought and granted forgiveness. After an indeterminate amount of time, Sideswipe pulled back with obvious reluctance.

"I better get this done or Prowl will have me scrapped," he grimaced, giving Ratchet one last caress before picking his brush back up.

"No need," a voice startled them both. "Prowl's decided that you've learned your lesson," Jazz added, smiling as he walked over and patted the Lamborghini on the top of the head—Sideswipe scowled at him—and then paused. "'Course, he had some help makin' that decision," he said, grin growing wider with a distinctly self-satisfied air.

"In other words, you talked him into it," Sideswipe guessed. "Jazz, man, you're my hero. I owe you one."

"Don't worry, I'll collect later," the saboteur laughed, and they got the impression that, if it hadn't been for the visor, Jazz would have winked.

"You realize that you're just encouraging him to keep doing things like this, don't you?" Ratchet asked dryly, trying to hide his amusement.

The Porsche laughed again. "Hey, I gotta look out for my partner in crime, don't I?"

Ratchet's optics widened, then narrowed. "You didn't have anything to do with this, did you Lieutenant?" he asked dangerously.

"_Moi_? Why, I'm as innocent as the day I was sparked," Jazz replied, apparently affronted.

"Uh-huh," Ratchet muttered dubiously.

The saboteur regarded him in amusement. "Well, I'm sensing that the welcome is getting distinctly colder. I'll be goin' now," he remarked, and disappeared around the corner just as a soapy brush bounced off the wall where he'd been standing.

Sideswipe laughed. "Your aim is dead on, babe, if only Jazz were a little slower," he teased.

"Shut up," Ratchet mumbled, giving him a playful shove.

Sideswipe shoved him back, and the medic retaliated by tackling him. They barely missed the bucket as they rolled across the floor grappling with each other and chortling madly. Sideswipe finally managed to pin Ratchet with a triumphant "Gotcha!" and draped his frame over his struggling lover in an attempt to keep him still.

"Hmm…" the red Lamborghini murmured in his audios, "Now the question is, what should I do with you, since you're all helpless?" before he trailed his lips along the medic's jaw to his neck.

"Sides!" Ratchet hissed, redoubling his efforts to escape. "This is a public hallway!"

"So?"

"So get off of me!" Gray lips brushed white, and Sideswipe grinned as he pulled back.

"C'mon, Ratch, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Right where I left it, thank you very much," the medic growled. "I'm not an exhibitionist."

"I could make you one," the red twin purred, then yelped when Ratchet finally bucked him off.

"You. Room. Now," the ambulance hissed, hauling his bondmate to his feet and pushing him in the direction of their quarters. Laughing, Sideswipe gave in and led the way.

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It was much, much later when Sideswipe woke to the most obnoxious sound—his brother braying with laughter.

"Buahahahahaha!" The yellow twin paused, caught another look at Sideswipe, then:

"Buahahahahaha!"

"Will you shut up?!" Sideswipe snarled. "What the slag is so funny, anyway?" he demanded, glaring at Sunstreaker.

In between gigglefits, snorting and shaking with mirth, Sunny pulled a mirror from subspace and handed it to him. Confused, Sideswipe took it, wondering why in the world Sunstreaker would give him a mirror—

Oh.

OH!

He looked up with murder in his optics and shoved the mirror back at his brother, who took it and subspaced it again with another snicker.

"Shut. Up," he growled, before stalking out of the room.

The medbay held only First Aid and Wheeljack, who stared at him in bemusement when he walked in. "Ratchet. Where?" he gritted out.

"Command center, talking to Optimus—hey Sides, are you—"

"I'm fine," he replied flatly to Wheeljack's half-formed inquiry.

He stormed down to the command center, earning odd looks all along the way—and he completely ignored the comments aimed in his direction.

He was pretty sure that they would only make him mad.

All optics turned to him when he burst through the doors at his destination, and he stood still for a moment while he searched out the object of his ire.

Finally he spotted him; he had somewhat camouflaged himself by standing near Jazz and Prowl, but all that white massed together was still eye-catching. With a shout, he leaped at the now-laughing medic, but he didn't get even close before Ironhide tackled him to the floor and sat on him.

"Hey now, cool yer jets there, Sides," the weapons specialist grunted, pinning him so he couldn't get back up. "Don't get yer wires in such a twist."

"Let me up, Ironhide," Sideswipe said in a dangerously calm tone. "I just wanna thank Ratchet for my new look." He glared daggers at the still-sniggering ambulance.

"Payback's a bitch, ain't it, Siders?" Ratchet asked pleasantly, patting the Lamborghini on the head, only to yank his hand back when his fingers got snapped at.

"Frag you," Sideswipe spat back.

"What is going on here?" Prime demanded, wading through the quietly snickering crowd of officers. Of all of the mechs present, only he and Prowl were unamused. "Let him up, Ironhide. I want an explanation."

Sideswipe clambered to his feet, pretending to brush dirt off of his paint, and Prime's optics went wide when he saw the full extent of what had been done to the Ark's resident prankster. He turned to Ratchet.

"You're responsible for this?" Ratchet nodded cheerfully. "Then I do believe congratulations are in order—you're the first mech I've seen that's managed to trick the Trickster King," Prime said, glad that his faceplate hid his smile. "Though where you got the horns…" and he shook his head.

Sideswipe's jaw dropped open then snapped shut, and he crossed his arms and tossed his head petulantly. Right in between the horns that adorned his head were two new additions, red plastic horns that stood out like sore thumbs amongst all the black, and trailing down from the small of his back was a long, red, triangle-tipped tail. A triangular black goatee and a pencil mustache colored in permanent marker across his face completed the look—Sideswipe had unmistakably been dressed up like a devil.

"Appropriate, ain't it?" Ironhide drawled to Jazz, who apparently couldn't take it anymore and burst out laughing.

"Oh, man…" he gasped, doubling over. "Oh, man! If you could see your face…!"

Sideswipe, fuming, glowered at his bondmate. "Your aft is _so_ mine for this," he growled.

"Is that a promise?" Ratchet asked suggestively, and the onlookers hooted and jeered with laughter.

"Shut up," the Lamborghini muttered, suddenly embarrassed as well as angry. "You planned it this way so everyone would see me, didn't you?" he grumped.

"Maybe," Ratchet replied slyly.

"You fight dirty." There was a grudging respect beginning to color the red twin's tone.

"I learned from the best," the medic quipped, and there was another round of chortling.

"He's got ya there, Siders," Jazz snickered. Sideswipe nodded, watching his lover appraisingly.

"Just remember—it's on now," he remarked, and then turned and left to the sound of more catcalling.

Ratchet just laughed.


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this out--it's finals week at dear ol' MSU, and the Christmas spirit has struck Wal-Mart at long last, so I don't have a lot of time left to write. Here's an extra-long chapter to hold you over 'til I can get past exams. And the evilness of the Wal-Mart electronics department at Christmas-time.

As always, special thanks to my beta,VAWitch, without whom I would never have the confidence to post this.

(And I just know my twin is gonna kill me for not letting her read this before I posted it --cringes--)

* * *

Jazz was not surprised when Sideswipe took his revenge on the medic less than a week later—what surprised (and amused) him to no end was the_ manner_ in which he took it. 

The saboteur had limped into the medbay after wrenching his knee during a friendly basketball game with Blaster, and was sitting on a repair table as Ratchet grumbled and poked at him when it happened. Everything had been business as usual until two things happened: one, the steady stream of verbal abuse toward Jazz came to an abrupt stop, and two, Ratchet dropped the tool he was using, squeaked out "Excuse me," and bolted for his office. The Porsche stared after him in bewilderment for a moment before awkwardly following him.

"Hey Ratch, man, y'ok?" he called through the door of the office, concerned. He almost didn't recognize the high-pitched, breathy voice that answered him—it was nearly an octave higher than it should have been.

"Go away!"

"Not until you tell me what's wrong," Jazz replied, determined not to leave without answers.

"Nothing's wrong! I'm fine!" The medic's vocalizer shorted with a squeal on the last word.

The Porsche tried the door; in his haste to escape, Ratchet had neglected to lock it. "I'm comin' in," he warned, and walked in just in time to see the Chief Medical Officer—sprawled in his office chair—throw back his head and cry out as he overloaded.

For a moment, Jazz couldn't do anything but stare in disbelief. Then he power-cycled his visor—but when it blinked back on, Ratchet was still there, lying limp in the chair as his systems reset.

"Wow," the saboteur said intelligently.

"Shut up," Ratchet muttered thickly, still muzzy from the release. He glared at Jazz in complete mortification.

After a moment, Wheeljack and Swoop stuck their heads in the door—they had been in the supply room, checking for discrepancies in the inventory, and they had apparently heard the noise.

"You Ratchet ok?" Swoop asked hesitantly.

The medic just groaned and flung an arm over his optics; the Dinobot took this to mean that he was _not_ ok. He started toward his mentor, but Wheeljack grabbed his arm to hold him back just as Ratchet snapped, "Don't touch me!"

"Sideswipe?" Jazz guessed, earning confused looks from the engineer and the Dinobot. Ratchet raised his arm just enough to glower at the saboteur with one optic.

Finally he muttered, "Yes," and let his arm fall back.

Understanding finally dawned in Wheeljack's optics and, hiding his amusement, he ushered a confused and protesting Swoop out of the office.

"But me Swoop not get it—" he was complaining as the door cycled shut.

Finally, Ratchet mumbled, "I'm gonna kill that slagging Lambo."

Jazz couldn't help it. He snickered.

Ratchet sat up and glowered at him so fiercely that the saboteur nearly swallowed his own vocalizer in an attempt to contain his mirth.

_I will not laugh, I will not laugh, I will not laugh_ ran through his processors like a mantra, though the sight of the CMO looking equal parts mortified and ready to throw something was not helping him.

"Not one word, Jazz," Ratchet growled, optics narrowing threateningly. He heaved himself up out of the chair, swaying a little on unsteady legs for a moment before regaining his balance.

Jazz ignored the warning. "Man, am I glad Prowl's too straight-laced to do slag like that to me," he commented, still trying to hold back his laughter. "You got your hands full with that one for a bondmate."

The medic growled. "Don't remind me." He looked like he was contemplating exactly what object to throw at the saboteur, and Jazz prepared himself to duck whatever he selected.

"Hey, you knew what you were getting into when you got yerself involved with those two," the Porsche pointed out, snickering.

"Jazz…" Again the warning growl.

"Just sayin'…"

"Well, don't." Ratchet shoved his way past him into the medbay proper and resolutely ignored the curious look from Swoop and the gleeful one from Wheeljack. He stalked over to the door and turned to look at them just before he exited.

"If any one of you three says _one word_ about this, I will hunt you down," he snarled—and he nearly blew his top when Wheeljack couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing.

"Shut up!" the medic gritted, and tossed the closest thing he could get his hands on—a wrench—at his friend, who ducked, being well-used to this kind of behavior from Ratchet. The CMO, frustrated that the wrench hadn't connected with Wheeljack's head, made an inarticulate sound of rage, and swept out of the room.

Jazz called out in amusement, "But Doc, what about my knee?" His only answer was the sound of Ratchet's foot impacting the door.

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When Ratchet stormed into their shared quarters, Sideswipe was sprawled out on the berth looking thoroughly pleased with himself, and Sunstreaker was nowhere to be found.

"Hey, Ratch," the red warrior purred languorously, propping himself up on one elbow as the medic stomped over to him.

"What the frag did you think you were doing?" Ratchet ground out, fists clenched at his sides.

Sideswipe shrugged. "I got tired of waiting for you to come back," he said innocently.

Ratchet's left optic twitched involuntarily. "So you thought you'd throw our link wide open and get yourself off?" he asked coolly, staring down his nose at the Lamborghini.

Sideswipe thought about that for a moment. "Hmmm… what was it you said, Ratch? Payback's a bitch? 'Cause, you know, it is," and he grinned unrepentantly. "Besides," he added, "you liked it, anyway."

"Not while everyone is watching!" the medic hissed, and leaped at Sideswipe.

The Lamborghini braced himself just as Ratchet struck with a full-body tackle, and grunted when momentum carried them both into the wall. They grappled in silence for a few moments, neither able to gain the advantage in such close quarters—and Sideswipe discovered that Ratchet was no slouch at hand-to-hand combat despite having been primarily designed as a medi-bot.

Of course, that didn't mean that he was a match for Sideswipe.

The fell to the floor with a resounding crash; Ratchet made an involuntary noise of pain as Sideswipe landed on top of him. The bond was still new enough that the Lamborghini was instantly remorseful—he hadn't meant to actually _hurt_ the medic.

"I'm all right," Ratchet grumbled, batting at his now frantically worried lover's hands in annoyance.

"But I hurt you," Sideswipe whined, still inspecting him for the least sign of damage.

Ratchet gripped the black head in his hands, forcing the red twin to look him in the optics. "I'm fine," he reiterated patiently. "You didn't hurt me, I promise." He snorted. "I'm beginning to think that you're worse than I ever thought about being. Were you always this overprotective of Sunny?"

Sideswipe winced. "Sunny would have hit me if I acted like this with him," he muttered. "Besides, I've been bonded to him my entire life, and we've both learned to ignore the urge to smother each other with concern—which is why I can't figure out why I feel like the Earth has dropped out from underneath me every time I think you might be hurt."

"Slagger," Ratchet murmured. "How am I supposed to stay mad at you when you say things like that?" and he gave the Lamborghini's head a little shake.

"It's all part of the master plan," Sideswipe quipped, happy again.

"What 'master plan'?" Ratchet asked warily, and the red 'Bot's grin turned suddenly sensuous.

"Why, to make you fall even more in love with me," he purred, and kissed his white bondmate thoroughly. "Let's do this proper-like, shall we?" he murmured after pulling away, and slipped his fingers under the now-unresisting medic's armor.

He smiled against the white lips in satisfaction at the low moan that poured out of his lover's vocalizer as he stroked circuits still hyper-sensitive from his earlier mental assault, then gasped when Ratchet's clever fingers found his most sensitive areas in return._Damn,_ he thought, _but the 'Bot is __**good**_. He only realized that their mental link had deepened enough for Ratchet to have 'heard' him when a sense of smug pride flowed from the medic's side of the bond.

::Proud of yourself, are you?:: the Lamborghini sent, not trusting himself to speak with Ratchet's mouth on his neck like that.

::Why wouldn't I be?:: the ambulance sent back, amused. ::One of the most sought-after mechs in the Ark is putty in my hands.::

Beneath the satisfaction that Ratchet was radiating, however, Sideswipe could still sense the self-doubt, the amazement that someone as beautiful, as desirable as the twins would want a cranky old mech like him. Sideswipe was almost impossible not to like unless you were the victim of one of his pranks—and even then he usually managed to charm you into forgiving him—and Sunstreaker, despite his aggressive tendencies, was undoubtedly one of the best-looking 'Bots on the base.

Sideswipe pulled back with a sigh, prompting a whimper of loss from his bondmate. After blinking in confusion for a moment, the medic gave Sideswipe a questioning look as the heat of his passion cooled a little.

"Sides?" Ratchet asked uncertainly.

Sideswipe just watched him with an unreadable look for a few seconds, drinking in the sight of the white cheeks flushed pink on his infrared display from the overheated energon flowing through the medic's systems and the slightly parted lips that nearly begged to be kissed.

Finally, once he was satisfied that he had the image burned into his data storage units, he sent it to Ratchet—and at the same time showed him exactly how badly he was affected by it.

Sideswipe saw the medic's optics widen and felt his systems kick into overdrive as the depth of the red twin's desire flooded him. "I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone in my entire life," he whispered in Ratchet's audio. "And I have never loved anyone but Sunny until you. How's that for a confidence boost?" He gently stroked one of the ambulance's access ports and smiled at the shudder that the caress provoked—and then plugged himself into it.

The medic cried out and arched under him, fumbling at one of Sideswipe's own ports to complete the loop. The red mech carefully took the cable from Ratchet's shaking fingers and did it for him, and couldn't stifle a gasp as his bondmate filled the link with his love. Briefly, Sunstreaker's mind also touched on theirs, letting them know that he had also received the image and relaying his appreciation of it before he blocked them out—apparently he'd just set out on a patrol and couldn't afford to let his concentration lapse.

After that, their world narrowed down to just the two of them as they lost themselves in each other.

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Ratchet was just finishing up with Jazz's knee and trying to ignore the saboteur's stupid grin when Sunstreaker contacted him. His voice filled the medic's mind until Ratchet could hear nothing else—and something had him uncharacteristically worried.

::Tell Prime we need everyone out here _right now_,:: the yellow Lamborghini sent in a tightly controlled tone. Jazz looked at Ratchet questioningly.

"It's Sunstreaker," the CMO explained in a grim voice. "He's not injured, but something is wrong—who was sent out with him on patrol?"

"Bumblebee," Jazz replied quietly. "He's one of the few mechs he gets along with these days."

Ratchet nodded, distracted. ::Sunstreaker, what's going on?::

::Old Megs is up to something—not sure what,:: came the reply. ::But 'Bee's hurt, and there's a helluva lot of Decepticons down there. Comms are jammed—they know we're here, but not exactly where.::

::Thank Primus we don't need the comms to reach one another,:: the medic sent back faintly, and only realized he spoken aloud when Jazz agreed with him as he eased off of the repair table to inform Prime—the brief, faraway look on his face said that he'd already gotten to Prowl. The saboteur nodded to Sideswipe as the red mech slipped past him into the medbay, heading for his bondmate.

The Lamborghini was wrapping his arms around Ratchet just as Wheeljack and Swoop were coming back out of the supply room.

"Hey, what's going on?" the inventor asked, familiar enough with his friend to see the tension coiling in his frame.

Sideswipe hesitated, then said, "From what I can tell—Sunny and 'Bee literally stumbled over Megatron's latest scheme and are hemmed in by the enemy. Bumblebee's wounded, but Sunny hasn't said how bad—"

"And now he's requesting backup," Ratchet interrupted grimly, and Wheeljack whistled.

"Must be bad, if him Sunstreaker want backup," Swoop commented, surprising them with his insight.

Sideswipe watched the Dinobot thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, if my brother's asking for help, then he's unable to even escape, let alone fight them. And Primus knows he thinks he's a match for any three Decepticons."

::What is taking so long? They are _chipping_ my _paint._:: Sunstreaker's imperious mental 'voice' interrupted them, and both Ratchet and Sideswipe jumped.

::Hush, my lovely golden Daffodil of Doom. We're working on it,:: Sideswipe sent back cheekily, and Ratchet nearly choked on his laughter while Sunstreaker sputtered.

Wheeljack arched an optic ridge in curiosity. "Do I even want to know?" he asked dryly while his friend tried to not swallow his own vocalizer in his mirth.

By the time that Prime, followed closely by Prowl and Jazz, arrived in the medbay demanding details, they had forgotten their amusement at the twins' antics in the face of the desperate situation Sunstreaker and Bumblebee found themselves in.

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It turned out that the gathered Decepticons had been working on Megatron's Latest Superweapon™, which was really nothing different than any of the other superweapons he'd had designed over the years. It was a given that he had to be stopped, but it was always amusing to see just how this latest device would fail, and how quickly Megatron would blame Starscream for it.

Of course, the battle leading up to that point was anything but amusing—on arriving at the scene, they had had to fight their way to Sunstreaker's position, and the sight of little 'Bee lying there clutching his wounded side with one hand and his gun with the other made Ratchet seethe with white-hot fury.

Never mind the fact that Bumblebee was quite capable despite his small size, else he would never have been sent out with the volatile Sunstreaker.

As soon as the area was secured, the medic subspaced his weapons and pulled out his field kit, hurrying to Bumblebee's side as Sunstreaker brushed past him to join his brother on the battlefield. Ratchet felt a moment's panic as the thought that they were deliberately putting themselves in danger hit him, but the twins, sensing his distress, invaded his mind and _forced_ him to calm down before blocking him out so that all of them could concentrate. He was too grateful for the effect to worry about their method; he decided to ream them later for taking advantage of their bond like that and turned his focus to 'Bee.

The injury was actually not all that bad, just painful, and it wasn't long before he had the Volkswagen's pain receptors offline and the worst of the damage patched—and of course, Bumblebee immediately insisted on joining the battle to help his friends. Ratchet almost didn't let him out of sheer vindictive stubbornness, but the simple truth was that they needed every warm body they could get out on the field, and the medic let him go with a dire warning should 'Bee break open the patch weld he'd put on the wound.

Reluctantly, Ratchet pulled out his own sidearms and leaped into the fray just in time to see his bondmates tag-teaming a very angry-looking Soundwave. The telepath's cassettes darted in and around the bigger mechs' feet, taking potshots where they could. Ratchet took aim and fired, clipping Rumble on the shoulder as the cassette drew a bead on Sideswipe. This attracted the attention of Rumble's twin Frenzy, and suddenly the medic had cassettes swarming him.

Ratchet plucked Rumble off of his back—where he'd climbed up to harass the medic—and flung him, taking a swipe at Frenzy to keep him from pulling the same trick. Both cassette twins rolled to their feet and fired in one smooth motion, and Ratchet winced when the shots stung his arm as he dodged too slowly. He was preparing himself for another attack when Sideswipe, seeing his bondmate in danger, roared in fury and pounced on the Decepticon twins. He swept the pair's heads together and dropped them at Soundwave's feet, snarling for the blue mech to "keep your mini-mes on a leash!" before going back to helping his brother harass the communications officer.

This, of course, infuriated Soundwave, who retaliated by doing the unexpected—he fired at Ratchet.

Both Lamborghini twins cried out when the shot pierced their bondmate's upper chest near the shoulder through and through, and the medic dropped with a grunt of pain.

By unspoken agreement, Sideswipe dashed for the downed medic while Sunstreaker bellowed and threw himself at Soundwave, stunning the blue Decepticon and his cassettes with the ferocity of his attack.

Far above their heads, Starscream took note of the exchange and, sensing a golden opportunity to be rid of the twin thorns in his side, executed a snap-roll to bring himself in line for a strafing run. Shrieking vindictively, he rained fire down on the heads of the struggling mechs below, not really caring if Soundwave and his cassettes got caught up in it so long as he scored a hit on those thrice-damned Autobot twins.

Pass completed, he looped around to view its effects, and cackled with glee at what he saw.

The red one lay still atop the now frantically-struggling medic; the yellow one knelt next to them trying to pull his brother off of the white mech. Soundwave and his cassettes were nowhere to be found—Starscream only realized where they'd gone when he heard Megatron sound the retreat. The red and white F-15 sniffed disdainfully as he turned his attention to finding his wingmates; Megatron must've gotten his aft handed to him by Prime again. The already abysmal level of respect he had for his leader sank even further, but he followed the order because he had no desire to tangle with the Autobot gestalt teams on his own—and, oh frag, Superion was looking his way. He turned tail and fled with the rest of his faction.

Down on the ground, Ratchet nearly panicked again amid the flash and bang of weapons fire when Sideswipe cried out and fell on top of him heavily; pain flared through the bond even though the medic could feel his bondmate's attempt to block it out.

"Sorry," Sideswipe gasped, little droplets of energon falling from his lips to spatter across Ratchet's face—the shot must have pierced an intake. The medic managed, with help from Sunstreaker, to roll Sideswipe off of him, and he flinched when the red Lamborghini arched up off of the ground with a strangled cry as he landed on the wound. Ignoring the burning pain in his own shoulder, Ratchet once again rolled Sideswipe over, this time so that he was lying facedown, and took a look at the damage done to his lover's back.

They were vaguely aware of others coming up beside them, but they were too absorbed in one another to pay much attention to them—until someone tried to take Sideswipe away. Both medic and warrior snarled protectively; but Ratchet, at least, backed down when he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder and Optimus Prime's deep, warm, world-weary voice saying, "Easy, old friend. We're just helping."

As Prime helped him to his feet, he finally took a look around, and grimaced at what he saw. The battle had been won, but it had taken its toll on their ragged little army. Nearly every mech had taken at least minor damage, and some were standing only by sheer force of will. Almost absently, he let his consciousness twine with the still-agitated Sunstreaker's, anchoring both of them in the solidity of their bond before the yellow mech became jumpy enough to lash out. Sideswipe nosed in from the edges of their joined minds, and they welcomed him with open arms despite the pain that flooded them all as a result.

Ever since he had woken to find himself bonded to the twins, Ratchet had been dreading a day like today—except, instead of falling apart from worry, he found himself becoming more focused. Of course, he would not be able to bring himself to work on anyone else until he had Sideswipe stabilized, but his two young students, along with Wheeljack, should be able to keep everyone else online until he could get to them, and Sunstreaker's injuries were minor enough that he thought he could force them to the back of his mind until the badly wounded were dealt with.

As for his own injuries—he damped down his pain receptors in the area, self-repair was already sealing off the leaks, and he still had full use of the arm. It probably looked worse than it was, he thought to himself, glancing at the energon and coolant trickling down his chest.

The drive back to base was mostly a blur. He stuck to Sunstreaker like a limpet, since Sideswipe had been forced to let Prime carry him back. He himself was hauling Bumblebee home; the yellow Beetle had broken open the temporary repairs Ratchet had made despite all of the medic's admonitions to be careful, and Ratchet fully intended to give the minibot the rough side of his tongue when they got back.

(After Sideswipe was fully repaired, of course. That took precedence over everything, and to the Pit with what anyone else might think.)

When they finally got everyone sorted out in the medbay, no one tried to stop him from going to Sideswipe's side, even though there were mechs with worse wounds waiting—Prime had to have realized that Ratchet would be of no use to them unless his bondmate was out of danger. Wheeljack watched his friend work on Sideswipe with an unreadable look before motioning to First Aid and Swoop to help him with Brawn, who had sustained the most damage of everyone involved in the battle.

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Late in the night, Ratchet sank into his office chair—the last 'Bot had been repaired and sent on his way, and all that was left was the cleaning up, which the medic had told both of his exhausted apprentices could wait until morning. Both of them had gratefully slunk off to find their respective brothers, eager to catch up on some much-needed rest. It had not been as bad as it could have been, he supposed—Brawn had been the only one he had had to keep in the medbay overnight, and the twins were curled up on their berth in the quarters they shared with him, deep in recharge.

Ratchet looked up as the door cycled open; he caught a quick glimpse of Brawn recharging peacefully on one of the repair tables behind the mech who entered. His tired mind struggled to make sense of why Prime might come to see him so late.

"Optimus—" he said, starting to rise from his chair, but Prime waved him back down.

"Are you alright?" the big red and blue mech asked in a blunt voice, scrutinizing the smaller mech closely.

Ratchet blinked. "I… well, yes…" he said, staring up at Prime in surprise when his CO frowned down at him. Optimus reached down and, as though to prove a point, ran a finger across the medic's shattered windshield and displayed the energon-coated digit to him.

"Are you sure?" he pressed, concern filling his voice and optics.

The medic watched the bigger mech uneasily. "It looks worse than it is—"

"You should still let someone take care of it," Prime admonished, casting around for something to wipe the fluid off of his finger. Ratchet wordlessly handed him a clean cloth.

The ambulance nearly leaped out of his armor when Swoop—whom he had thought was safely tucked in with his brothers—stuck his head in and squawked in agreement. "Him Prime right. You Ratchet let me Swoop fix you," the Dinobot said firmly, brooking no argument. "Me Swoop can do it," he added, thinking that his mentor's hesitation was due to his reluctance to let Swoop work on him.

Ratchet stared at them both, wide-opticed, before turning to Optimus and saying accusingly, "You planned this!"

He was met with a level glare. "You neglect yourself far too much, my friend," Prime replied grimly. "Come along, now, and get yourself repaired before those two hellions wake up and come looking for you. I'm surprised they haven't already." He reached down and gripped the medic by the elbow, all but dragging him out of the office and onto a repair table that Swoop was in the process of setting up. Unsurprisingly, Wheeljack and First Aid were helping him; apparently it was a conspiracy.

About halfway through, with his chest plating still off and Swoop still busily digging through his shoulder for leaks and damaged circuits, the Lamborghini twins did indeed come looking for him, stumbling sleepily into the medbay and setting up camp against the wall where they could watch the whole procedure.

"You hid the fact that you were still hurt from us," Sideswipe mumbled reproachfully, leaning up against his twin with a sigh and glaring at Ratchet.

"Sorry," the medic muttered, twitching a little as Swoop found a damaged sensor node and removed it.

"Fragger. No you're not," Sunstreaker replied. "Apparently we're gonna have to watch you every minute to make sure you take care of yourself." He scowled and crossed his arms, sparking a protest from his brother as he was dislodged from Sunstreaker's shoulder.

"Not a half-bad idea," Wheeljack muttered from where he was observing Swoop's progress and making corrections as needed—the Dinobot was still learning, after all. First Aid made a noise of agreement as he sorted through the parts they needed, occasionally handing one to Swoop when his fellow student requested it.

"You're all in on it, aren't you?" Ratchet grumbled. "I don't need a babysitter, slaggit."

"If you're going to forego necessary repair like this, then I wonder if you don't," Prime said dryly. "You're not really all that expendable, Ratchet. We can't afford to lose you, or have you break down from stress or injury. Not to mention the fact that you have some dear friends who would be very upset to see anything happen to you." The medic suddenly couldn't meet Prime's optics.

Optimus sighed and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I did not intend to make you feel guilty," he said quietly. "I merely worry for you—out of all of the Autobots here, you are the one under the most stress; your responsibilities weigh the heaviest—"

"_It's not your damned fault!_" Sideswipe burst in, the effect of his glare lessened by his trembling lips. If he'd been human, Prime would have thought him on the verge of weeping. "It's _never_ your fault, you fragger, and don't you _dare_ think that it is! It was _my_ choice to protect you, _not yours_!" Everyone stared at the red twin as he drew a shaky breath. "I _love_ you," he whispered, refusing to look at anything but the floor. "I love you, and all I keep seeing is Soundwave taking aim…"He shuddered. "Don't think for one moment that I wouldn't die for you, and be glad to do it." His voice broke on the last word, and he fell silent, shaking and leaning against his brother, who let him do so without comment.

"Don't say that," Ratchet replied harshly. "Don't you _ever_ say that again. My life is not worth yours."

"You can't stop me," Sideswipe said grimly.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Prime interjected, smoothly averting the forthcoming argument.

"Next time I see that fragging 'Con I'm gonna rip him to shreds," Sunstreaker said in a low voice, optics glittering with anger.

Swoop and First Aid finally got his outer plating replaced, and Ratchet slid off of the repair table and went to the twins, who automatically wrapped him up in their arms as he crouched down next to them. "Pursuing Soundwave will only get you killed," he said, letting them press him between them, needing the closeness just as badly as they did. He jumped a little when he felt a hand that was not theirs brush against him; he looked up to see Wheeljack watching him with concern in his optics.

"Give me a yell if you need anything, alright?" the inventor said softly, and Ratchet nodded. Wheeljack left, with First Aid and Swoop following him. The medic stood, pulling Sunstreaker and Sideswipe up with him.

"Let's get some rest," he said quietly, and started toward his quarters with them in tow when Prime stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"This will only take a moment, and I promise you may have him back," Optimus rumbled, looking almost amused at the fiercely protective way the Lamborghinis glared at the big red and blue mech.

"Oh, for Primus' sake, he's not going to dismantle me," Ratchet said irritably, pushing at the pair when they still didn't move. Finally, they reluctantly slinked off to their quarters.

Ratchet fidgeted as the silence stretched between them. After a few minutes, he burst out, "Alright, so what did you want, Optimus?" He winced a little at how harsh that sounded to his own audios, and nearly apologized when Prime arched an optic ridge in surprise.

Optimus hesitated, then, "As I said earlier, I am concerned… I ask you—as a friend, not your commanding officer—are you really happy with them? Is a day like today really worth it, when you, of all mechs, know that they've come back from battle in far, far worse shape?" He sighed. "I guess that what I'm really afraid of is that the three of you have become stuck in this bond without having thought about it beforehand—I'm afraid that maybe someday they'll come to regret tying themselves to you. I'm sure you're just as aware of their 'love them and leave them' reputation as I am—"

"Optimus…" Ratchet interrupted gently. "There are no regrets between us," he told the bigger 'Bot earnestly. "It's not just some fling; and we may get on each others' nerves at times, but—well…" He paused, struggling with how to phrase it so that he could put his friend's mind at ease. "I… well, we didn't really think about it beforehand at all, that much is true, but deep down I think we all wanted it or it would never have happened. And as for today—I think I'm finally getting the hang of keeping my cool when they're hurt. I'll still be able to do my job without too much difficulty, I think." He chuckled softly. "In fact," he added, "I think_ they_ were fritzing more over _me_ than I was over them."

"Hmm," Prime mused. "We'll probably have to keep you off of the battlefield as much as possible, then—they'll run less risk of serious injury if they're not distracted with keeping you safe."

Ratchet nodded. "I'll do whatever you think is necessary… I know that we put you in a bad spot with our thoughtlessness," he murmured.

"You needn't worry about it," Prime remonstrated. "I am not blind; I've seen that you're more relaxed since you've been with them. Love is a grand thing, is it not?"

The medic 'hmmed' in agreement. "Yeah," he replied quietly. "I'd forgotten what it was like. It's… addictive. _They're_ addictive."

"So I've heard," Optimus said dryly. "You realize that there are some who are jealous of you, and that some mechs are wondering what it is that you have that they don't, to make the Twins stay with you, and not with them? I understand they were highly sought after until they became involved with you, but everyone's too afraid of the whole lot of you to say anything to your faces."

Ratchet snorted. "Frag if I know the answer to that question. I'm bonded to them, and I'm grateful for that, but I don't pretend to understand why they're willing to be stuck with me for the rest of their lives. I try not to ask too many questions; I know that they love me for some unfathomable reason known only to Lamborghini twins, and that's enough for me. I'm well aware that we're a bit of an odd match—_I_ get a headache if I think about it too hard." He cocked his head to the side, as though listening to something Optimus couldn't hear, and chuckled.

"I'd best be getting back—they're getting restless," he explained, optics twinkling with amusement. "Sideswipe claims he can't offline without me there, and that he'll die of lack of rest if I don't hurry my aft up. Except he said it with a lot more theatrics, the manipulative little sneak."

Optimus laughed in response. "You shouldn't keep the poor deprived thing waiting then, should you?" he asked, still chuckling. Together, they headed for the door of the medbay and walked across the hall to Ratchet's quarters.

"One more thing, Optimus," Ratchet said abruptly, hand hovering over the keypad of the doorlock.

"What's that?"

"I thought you didn't listen to the rumor mill around here?"

Prime laughed again. "Oh, I have ways of keeping informed, when they don't get stubborn and clam up on me," he replied, optics crinkling at the corners with his mirth.

"You mean Jazz," Ratchet guessed, lips quirking in a small smile.

"Jazz is a primary source," the big mech confirmed. "You'd better get in there before they come looking for you again," he added, giving the CMO a little push toward his door, then patting him on the shoulder and heading off for his own recharge berth.

Ratchet shook his head and entered his room for some much-needed rest in his bondmates' arms.


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: Well folks, this is the last chapter of Cave Canem. (Unless there is something that I've completely and totally forgotten to explain, which is possible, but may still be relegated to the next story in the arc, which is currently in the planning stages.)

I apologize for the length of time that this has taken to post, but the holidays have gotten the better of me, and it took a while to get this one up to snuff. .;

Anyway, thanks once again to everyone who reviewed and the wonderful VAWitch for beta reading; couldn't have done without you. XD

And without further ado, the fic:

* * *

Sideswipe had come to the conclusion that Ratchet was completely cratered. 

Of course, it was largely his fault that the medic was in said state—he'd diligently made sure that his lover always had a full cube of high-grade, and the party had been Sideswipe's idea in the first place—but it was still funny as slag to see Ratchet babbling brightly to Prowl, who nodded politely and discreetly glanced around to see if Jazz would come save him. The saboteur, of course, was sitting in the corner laughing himself sick at the whole thing.

This was exactly what Ratchet had needed, Sideswipe thought smugly, watching Prowl finally escape, which prompted the medic to make his unsteady way over to the red Lamborghini. Sideswipe glanced at his brother, noting that Sunstreaker's optics also tracked Ratchet's weaving progress with the intent gaze of a raptor on the hunt. When he looked back he nearly yelped in surprise; he was nose-to-nose with the medic.

"Hello," Ratchet drawled. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Hmm, yeah…" Sideswipe paused. "You know, you're a little overcharged."

The ambulance peered at him blearily. "Are you sure?" he asked, plopping himself down to sit beside his lover. "I can still walk and talk. I must not be _too_ overcharged," he added cheerfully. His current mood was a distinct improvement over the one he'd been in before Sideswipe's impromptu party; the past few weeks—the past few battles, actually—had really taken their toll on the CMO, and the usual methods of calming him down had ceased to work. It had gotten to the point that no one had any desire to venture into the medbay (newly dubbed the Hatchet's Lair) except in dire need.

They had all, including Prime, rediscovered the fact that getting things thrown at your head was detrimental to your health—and Ratchet rarely missed his target.

And, since any comment made to Sunstreaker that could be construed as a complaint about Ratchet had the lamentable tendency of resulting in bodily harm, everyone had gone to Sideswipe to beg for something—anything—that might take the edge off of Ratchet's anger at the ability of the average Autobot to get himself slagged good and proper. Now, Sideswipe didn't really give a flying frag what misfortunes befell his comrades-in-arms at Ratchet's hand (they probably deserved it anyway), but his bondmate's growing agitation was beginning to worry him.

Thus the party.

Of course, the _official_ reason was to celebrate a recent victory over the 'Cons, but that was a minor detail.

Everyone who wasn't on-duty at the time was there, and Sideswipe spared a moment to think that it was a pity they didn't do this more often—they had all needed a little morale boost, it seemed.

"Oh, you're pretty overcharged," Sideswipe told Ratchet calmly. "'Course, so'm I."

The medic leaned his head on Sideswipe's shoulder. "Hmm. Is that why you've just been sitting here?"

"Mm-hmm. 'M not so sure I wanna try walking."

Ratchet nodded sagely. "It's a little tricky."

"Yup."

They fell silent for a few moments, just watching the party going on around them, until Ratchet heaved a sigh of contentment. "You planned all this for my sake, didn't you?" he asked sleepily, shifting to get a little more comfortable against the red warrior's side.

"You were gettin' a little grouchy," Sideswipe said mildly, not wanting even an overcharged Ratchet to take a swing at him. Ratchet hit _hard._

But the medic just made a soft noise of protest. "Can't help it if I work with a bunch'a incompetent idiots that can't seem to keep th'mselves outta my medbay."

"Hmm."

"Sideswipe?"

"Yeah?"

"…Thanks."

Sideswipe just smiled. "No problem."

Silence between them once more; Sideswipe snickered when Wheeljack and Bluestreak, neither paying attention to where he was going, tripped over each other and fell in a tangle to the floor. They could barely hear Bluestreak's babbled apologies and Wheeljack's "It ain't nothin', kid, it ain't nothin'!" over the sound of the music as they righted themselves. Ratchet snorted at how flustered his friend was getting, which caused Sideswipe to go from snickering to an outright chuckle.

The red Lamborghini raised his energon cube to his lips, planning on taking another sip, only to look at it mournfully and shake it when he realized it was empty. "Hey," he said, shrugging his shoulder to dislodge the half-awake medic, who bolted upright, startled. "'M gonna go get some more high-grade. Want another cube?"

Ratchet blinked at him in confusion for a moment before peering into his own half-full cube and shaking his head. "Nah, 'm good."

Sideswipe nodded and, using his bondmate's shoulder to steady himself, stood up. "Woah," he muttered. "The floor's movin'."

Ratchet sniggered. "It is not, bolt-bucket."

"Watch who y'r callin' a bolt-bucket—"

"Or you'll what?"

"I'll—I'll—I'll think of somethin'," the red twin mumbled, trying to clear his head by shaking it. "Later, when I'm not overcharged." After standing there for a few minutes to regain his equilibrium, he made his way over to the energon dispenser. Somehow he made it there without falling, and decided to go ahead and retrieve two cubes—Ratchet would probably be out by the time he got back.

Suddenly there was a thread of anger running through his mind from Sunstreaker's end of the bond, and when he turned around his own energon nearly boiled when he saw why. An obviously overcharged Smokescreen sat with his arm slung companionably across Ratchet's shoulders and was talking with the medic animatedly.

Overcharge burning away in the light of his anger, he somehow managed to convince Sunny not to throttle Smokescreen and stalked over to loom over the mech encroaching on _his_ territory.

"You're in my seat, Smokey," he said in a deceptively pleasant voice, glowering down his nose at the smaller 'Bot.

Smokescreen blinked up at him innocently. "I didn't see your name on it," he quipped, but he prudently removed his arm from around the white and red shoulders. "Besides, Ratchet and I were just talking—" he cut off with an 'eep!' when Sideswipe's expression darkened further and he took a menacing step forward. After a few more moments of glaring and looming from the red twin, Smokescreen finally seemed to get the hint, and took off for friendlier climes. Ratchet stared after him with an odd look on his face.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "I think he was flirting with me…"

Sideswipe growled. "He better not have been," he snapped, glowering at the maroon and blue Datsun, now conversing with Powerglide and shooting nervous looks at the bristling Lamborghini twins.

The medic jumped a little when Sunstreaker flopped down on the seat next to him and wrapped him up, tucking Ratchet's head under his chin. He rumbled a warning growl when several mechs gave them odd looks, and everyone quickly left them alone. _Mine,_ his optics seemed to say, daring anyone to gainsay him.

Ratchet 'hmphed' and pushed Sunstreaker off of him. "If you two are getting this possessive over stupid slag like a 'Bot that's had more high-grade than is good for 'im, then it's time to go," he said firmly, and stood despite Sideswipe's protest that he was _not_ possessive, and they didn't have to leave. Ratchet snorted. "The party's winding down, anyway," he told them, indicating the mechs leaving by ones and twos.

"I guess it _is_ pretty late," Sideswipe admitted, surveying the shrinking gathering.

"I vote we go back, too," Sunstreaker added, clambering to his feet. "I've had enough of making nice with these losers," he whined.

Sideswipe sniffed. "Like you were doing anything but sitting there moping and downing high-grade," he retorted, smiling a little to take the sting out of his words.

"Yeah, well, I didn't kill Smokescreen, at least. I deserve a fragging medal for the effort it took, too," Sunny grumbled, and Ratchet arched an optic ridge at that.

"Please don't maim anyone while I'm too drunk to fix them, if you please, Sunny," the medic said dryly, wobbling a little as he led the way to their quarters. "You two have made enough work for me lately as it is, considering your tendency to be the worst wounded after every battle."

"Sorry," the yellow twin muttered sullenly, though both Ratchet and Sideswipe caught the guilt floating through the bond.

"'S not _our_ fault we were designed to be frontliners," Sideswipe said reproachfully. He paused, blinking, then giggled. "Is that a word? Frontliners?" he asked rhetorically, cocking his head to one side.

Ratchet turned to look at him quizzically. "I guess it is now, if it wasn't before," he replied, amused. They finally reached their door and he keyed in the code, marveling that he was still sober enough to remember it. He had the distinct impression that Sideswipe had forgotten, and he caught a quick flash of Sunstreaker silently ribbing him for it.

He smiled a little where the brothers wouldn't see it; this joking, laughing side of Sunny had been one he would never have guessed at before becoming involved with the twins, and it warmed him to know that the yellow 'Bot felt safe enough around him to let him see it. Sunstreaker, sensing that warmth and the fact that it was directed at him, gave him a brilliant grin, and the medic's fuel pump skipped a beat. The grin transformed Sunny's features from simply lovely into spark-shatteringly beautiful.

Sideswipe snickered as his brother preened under their lover's admiration. "You shouldn't think things like that. It'll swell his head up even bigger than it already is," he chortled, ducking his twin's fist when he took a swing at him. Unfortunately, both of them overbalanced and they landed in a tangled heap on the floor of their quarters. When Ratchet tried to help them up, however, they just dragged him down with them, laughing.

"Get him!" Sunstreaker cried, and suddenly he was pinned to the floor under two more heavily-armored mechs, struggling to get free and wondering what in the world they were going to—

The medic shrieked when both twins mercilessly dug their fingers into every ticklish spot they could find. He writhed away from the searching hands, laughing so hard that his vocalizer squealed as he begged for them to stop, stop, _stop!_ and he couldn't even draw air into his intakes to cool his overheating systems.

When it finally seemed as though they might be winding down, and Ratchet cautiously began to relax, they abruptly switched tactics to lightly caress the same places they had been attacking, and the change in sensation ripped a deep, throaty moan from the CMO. The brothers grinned at each other in triumph at that—then Sideswipe, now sitting up with Ratchet's head in his lap, swooped down to claim the white lips in a fierce, albeit upside down, kiss, while Sunstreaker—oh, _Primus!_—pressed his fingers into the seam between his waist and hip.

Even without the hardline connection, he could feel his bondmates responding to the way they had him writhing between them, and the knowledge heated his circuitry even more than it already was. Ratchet suddenly realized that, as overenergized as all of them were, none of them were going to last long enough to actually connect to one another physically—though the bond made it so that it didn't really matter. A hardline connection was fantastic because there was no interference with the flow of data, but simply immersing themselves in the bond was nearly as good.

The sensation tripled as their minds fully merged, each feeling everything the other two were, and it was enough to shove them all headlong over the edge. They cried out with one voice as energy crackled and danced along their frames, and then all went silent as they fell offline.

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When Ratchet woke, his head was pounding thickly, and his body felt unnaturally heavy.

Then he realized that Sunstreaker was still laying half on top of him.

He raised his head and looked around, wondering when in the world they had managed to climb up onto the berth, and—where the slag was Sideswipe, anyway? His optics lit on a note on his desk, and he somehow crawled off of the 'charge pad without either waking Sunny or purging his tanks and made his way over to read it. On it was Sideswipe's careless scrawl:

_Gone to get energon. Be right back. –Sides._

Ratchet dropped the note back on the desk and sank into the chair beside it with a groan because something told him it would not be a good idea to remain upright unless he wanted half-processed fuel all over the floor. After the world obligingly stopped spinning, he hazarded a glance back at the berth to see Sunstreaker looking back at him with too-bright optics.

"'M gonna be sick," the yellow 'Bot moaned, and Ratchet stared at him in horror.

"Don't you dare, Sunny," the medic said faintly. Sunstreaker just stared back with a glassy look before an alarmed expression crossed his features and he bolted for the door.

_Damn you, Sunny,_ was all Ratchet had time to think before the sound of the Lamborghini emptying his tanks out in the hall sent him scurrying for a waste receptacle.

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Feeling marginally better now that his tanks were empty—he had refused the offer of the energon that Sideswipe had brought back, despite the red twin's insistence that it would make him feel better—Ratchet had forced himself to suffer through his duty cycle in the medbay. The only thing that made it tolerable was the fact that Wheeljack felt just as bad as he did, and was there to commiserate with him.

Of course, the odd looks he kept getting—even from Wheeljack—were definitely not helping his mood. It wasn't until Swoop and First Aid came into the medbay that he realized _why_ everyone kept staring.

"Why you Ratchet have that written on your back?" the Dinobot had asked innocently, not noticing Wheeljack's not-so-subtle attempts to shut him up. Ratchet glowered up at him.

"Why do I have _what_ written on my back?" the CMO asked in a dangerously gentle voice—and though the question was directed at Swoop, the unspoken menace behind it was unmistakably meant for Wheeljack, who cringed.

Swoop blinked at his mentor in surprise and a little hurt at the tone that he had used. Ratchet's expression softened a little at the big 'Bot's genuine confusion. "I'm sorry, Swoop," he said reassuringly, then glared at Wheeljack. "I just wasn't aware that there _was_ anything written on my back, since certain _engineers_ neglected to tell me."

Ratchet suspected that First Aid only managed to keep a straight face because of the mask and the visor he wore—the Protectobot fairly vibrated with suppressed amusement as he manipulated one shining repair table so that it stood upright for an impromptu mirror, and then maneuvered Ratchet to stand with his back to it before pulling a small handheld mirror out of subspace and moving it around until the reflection of his reflection shone in the small mirror, and the medic could see what had been left in black magic marker on his back.

Printed in Sunstreaker's graceful script across his shoulders and down his back was the message _"Property of The Twins. Unauthorized touching may result in loss of limbs._" They had signed it at the bottom, each in his own hand. Ratchet growled and shoved the little mirror back at First Aid, who subspaced it without a word. He whirled on Wheeljack.

The engineer was laughing his head off by this point, fins flashing bright blue in his amusement—and then Ratchet leaped on him, wrestling him to the ground yelling obscenities. "You sorry fragger!" the medic screeched angrily. "You could have told me what they had written all over my back instead of letting _everyone_ and his brother see it!"

Wheeljack was laughing so hard he couldn't defend himself, weakly holding his hands up to ward off his friend's blows. It took both Swoop and First Aid to pull the furious white mech off of the Lancia, and Wheeljack sported several new dents when they finally managed it.

The inventor's guffaws slowly tapered off as Ratchet yanked himself free of his students and crossed his arms across his chest in a huff. "I wondered how long it would take you to notice it," Wheeljack chortled from his position on the floor, unfazed by the death glare the ambulance gave him. "Hey, don't look at me like that, your bondmates were the ones that did it, not me!" he added, 'ears' flashing merrily. Ratchet just grunted sourly.

"Don't remind me," he muttered, looking away.

"You knew what they were like going in," Wheeljack told him calmly. "You were aware that Sideswipe has the maturity of a ten-year-old human, and Sunstreaker is the most antisocial mech on the Ark—you had to have guessed that they'd eventually stake their claim in _some_ way. I saw you talking to Smokescreen, by the way—you might want to keep an optic on your boys, or you'll probably be seeing more of a certain Datsun. And it likely won't be pretty."

"Primus," Ratchet growled. "I thought I told you not to remind me."

The engineer heaved himself up off of the ground and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Do you regret them, now that it's too late to change anything?" he asked sharply. "'Cause that would be a real pity."

"No!" the CMO snapped before his expression softened and he sighed. "I don't regret _them_. I just didn't expect them to be so jealous. And they're so damn blatant about it!"

Wheeljack snorted derisively. "They're blatant about everything they do, unless they're trying to be sneaks; then even Red Alert has a hard time catching them. What made you think this'd be any different?" Suddenly he realized that Swoop and First Aid were still listening to them; he glared at them until they found themselves something else to do across the room.

"Yeah, but writing 'Property of the Twins' on my back?" Ratchet asked helplessly. "I'm bonded to them, not their property!"

"Oh, they were being facetious and you know it," the Lancia replied dryly. "Don't be so sensitive. Personally, I'm surprised they didn't just ravish you in a public place to prove their point. I thought that this was actually pretty mild."

Ratchet's optics widened as he processed that idea, and he had to admit to himself that Wheeljack was probably right. He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted when Sideswipe burst into the medbay being chased by a furious Ironhide.

"I swear I didn't do it this time!" the Lamborghini yelped, catching Swoop and using him for an improvised shield.

"Ya won't get away that easy!" the weapons specialist snarled, chasing Sideswipe 'round and 'round the protesting Dinobot. Finally Swoop had enough.

He grabbed both smaller mechs by the scruff of the neck and held them apart, bellowing, "You Sideswipe and Ironhide stop making me Swoop dizzy!" He glared at each of them equally, and even Ironhide flinched under the pterosaur's gaze. He put them down with a little shake once he felt he had them sufficiently cowed.

Upon being let go, Sideswipe promptly put Ratchet between himself and the still-angry Ironhide, eyeing the red van warily.

"Just what in the Pit is going on here?" Ratchet asked icily. He took a moment to actually _look_ at Ironhide, and had to do a double take when what he was seeing registered.

"'Hide," he said hesitantly, "how did you get covered in silly string?"

The weapons specialist crossed his arms huffily and glared at Sideswipe. "Ah walked outta mah quarters this mornin', an' the damn stuff just exploded. Ah just _know_ that that one was behind it, too," he growled, stabbing an accusatory finger at the red Lamborghini.

Sideswipe shook his head vigorously. "No! I swear I didn't do it this time Ironhide—ask Ratchet! I was with _him_ last night, him and Sunny!"

Ironhide opened his mouth for a scathing retort, but Ratchet interrupted him with a long-suffering sigh.

"For once, 'Hide, he's telling the truth," the medic said dryly, ignoring Sideswipe's sputtering and gesturing for the weapons specialist to sit on one of the repair tables so that he could begin digging the silly string out of Ironhide's armor and joints. "He_was_ with me all last night. I've got the graffiti—and the paint scuffs—to prove it," and he turned around to show his friend the new addition to his paintjob.

"The bit about th' paint scuffs was more than Ah wanted to know," Ironhide said absently as he read the message on Ratchet's back. His optics widened as he realized what it said, and he turned to gape at Sideswipe. "Ya know what, kid? Ya got some real ball bearings to pull somethin' like that," he said, astonished at the twins' cheek.

"You're tellin' me," Ratchet muttered, pushing Ironhide to lie back on the repair table and starting to pull the worst of the silly string off. "Ugh, what is with you pranksters and _pink_?" He shook his hand to rid himself of the clingy stuff.

"I didn't do it," Sideswipe protested automatically, but without any real heat. "Some folks were getting grabby," he told Ironhide, "and Sunny and I don't really like to share." He paused, then added, "Except with each other." Ratchet shot him a sour look.

Ironhide's optics opened wide. "Y' mean to tell me that _both_ o' ya—"

Sideswipe nodded solemnly, optics mischievously bright.

"Ah didn't need t'know that," Ironhide said, equally solemn.

"Are you two through embarrassing me?" Ratchet asked irritably, not looking up from rooting around in Ironhide's chassis for the elusive bits of silly string. "Oh, stop squirming, would you?" he barked, slapping the red van's chest and startling him into stillness.

"Actually, I haven't embarrassed you _nearly_ as much in the past few weeks as I had been," Sideswipe quipped happily. "I can remedy that, though—" and he waited till Ratchet had his hands free of the other mech and yanked him around for a thorough, passionate kiss.

The medic made a small involuntary noise of pleasure before he shoved Sideswipe away, glaring at him in fury. "You slagger," Ratchet snarled. He poked Sideswipe in the chest angrily. "Don't do that again," and he turned back to finish with Ironhide, who wisely didn't comment.

The red Lamborghini just stared for a moment in surprise—that wasn't Ratchet's usual response to a kiss. He reached out to the medic tentatively through the bond, and was surprised to find anger swirling around with the misery of a lingering hangover and empty fuel tanks.

"Look, kid," Wheeljack said quietly at his elbow, startling him, "he still doesn't feel too good right now, and it makes him hateful. Not to mention the fact that he's still ticked off about what you two wrote on his back."

Sideswipe turned to look at the engineer. "Yeah, I just figured that out," he murmured softly. "We don't really think that we own him, 'Jack," he added, as though pleading for Wheeljack to understand. "It's just that Smokescreen—"

"I saw what Smokescreen did," Wheeljack interrupted. "And don't you think that Ratchet could have taken care of it? Or did you think he would just let Smokey do whatever he wanted, considering he's bonded to you two? By the way, don't think I'm not well aware that Smokescreen was one of your flings." Sideswipe flinched at that.

"That was before—" he protested.

"I know that, too."

For a moment they just listened to Ratchet and Ironhide squabble over whether a trip to the washracks would get rid of the silly string or just wedge it deeper, thereby making the medic's job harder. Ratchet won, and Ironhide stayed.

"You do realize that Smokescreen is jealous?" Wheeljack asked finally, peering up at the larger warrior.

Sideswipe blinked at him. "Smokescreen? Jealous? Why would he be jealous?"

The inventor huffed air through his vents in an exasperated sigh. "Are you really this dense, or do you practice at it?" He ignored the red twin's affronted expression. "Look, it's not a secret that several of your one night stands would like to repeat the experience," he said dryly. "Smokescreen's one of 'em. Neither he nor any of the others interested in you can figure out why you might stay with Ratchet, of all mechs. To be honest, that's something I'd like to know myself," he added. "I don't doubt that you care about him—the fact that you're bonded to him proves that—but why _did_ you stay with him in the first place?"

The Lamborghini thought about that for a minute, then fidgeted when he realized that Ratchet and Ironhide were intently listening to their conversation. He could feel the thread of curiosity and—was that fear?—from Ratchet's part of the bond. "I… Well, uh, you see…"

Three sets of optics fixed on him expectantly. Thankfully, Swoop and First Aid were out of easy audio range, so he didn't have to worry about this whole mushy episode getting back to their brothers and spreading to the rest of the Ark, thereby ruining his reputation as a hard-aft. Finally he just sucked it up and said it. Ratchet deserved this, at least, and he had the feeling that the medic would be hurt if he just blew it off.

"Look, he's saved our afts more times than I can remember, and he's one of the few mechs that actually gave a frag whether Sunny lived or died—and that alone was a major selling point. I think…" he faltered momentarily, "I think that I was already half in love when I agreed to the bet that started all this, and I just didn't realize it. He was important to us because he made us feel like we were important to him. And when—well, when we, uh—"

"Interfaced?" Ratchet suggested softly, never taking his optics off of Sideswipe, who ducked his head in embarrassment.

"Yeah, that. Anyway, the first time it happened, I knew I was gone, that it was so much more than a bet—that I had to have you again. I'd never wanted _anyone_ like that before." His optics burned into Ratchet's with an intensity that nearly made the medic come undone. "It wasn't a matter of skill, either; I _have_ had more experienced lovers—not very many, I admit, but… That's not to say it wasn't intense," he added hastily, seeing the look on his bondmate's face. "I've learned since then that there's a difference between someone you interface with and a lover. Oh, Primus, I've stuck my foot in it again, haven't I?" he asked wretchedly, seeing Ratchet's expression getting darker despite his desperate attempts to explain. "Frag this," he muttered, and yanked the medic to him, kissing him hard and reaching out to him through the bond at the same time, letting him know exactly what he meant—the way that his spark thrilled at Ratchet's touch simply because it was _Ratchet_ touching him rather than the way that he did it.

"You idiot," Ratchet murmured affectionately, pulling away from the red twin. "You never were very good at explaining things like this, were you? I already knew what you meant," and he kissed Sideswipe again, tenderly this time. "You're a horrible closet romantic, you incorrigible creature."

"Oh, get a room, you two, b'fore ya short someone's optic sensors," Ironhide grumbled in mock disgust, and Ratchet chucked the closest tool he could scoop up at his friend's head. Ironhide cursed when it clanged against his helm. The noise attracted the attention of the two junior medics, and they stared at the four older mechs with unabashed interest until Wheeljack glared at them.

"You made 'em too nosy, 'Jack," Ratchet said, amused.

Wheeljack snorted. "You helped build 'em," he reminded the medic.

Ratchet laughed at that. "Yeah, they probably would have exploded by now if I hadn't."

"Oh,_shut up,_" the inventor snapped, optics narrowing while the others had a good laugh at his expense.

"Well, Ah hate ta break up this little party, but are ya done with me yet, Ratch?" Ironhide asked once everyone had calmed down. "Ah'd like ta go find out the culprit behind this here prank." Ratchet gave the weapons specialist another once-over before nodding, and Ironhide excused himself with a cheerful pat on the medic's shoulder.

Sunstreaker peeked through the doorway not long after Ironhide cleared it. "You might as well join this circus," Ratchet told him, smiling, and he cautiously eased into the room.

"You're not gonna throw anything at me?" he asked plaintively, and the medic snorted.

"Do you _want_ me to?"

"Well…no…"

"Then no, I'm not gonna throw anything at you."

The yellow Lamborghini watched him warily for a few moments before allowing himself to be convinced and approaching close enough to brush his hand against Ratchet's. "Sorry about, you know, this morning," Sunstreaker muttered, low enough that only the medic could hear it.

::Not your fault,:: Ratchet sent back, and Sunstreaker favored him with a slight smile. ::However, you two owe me a good scrub for writing all over my back,:: he added, a good-humored scowl across his face.

The golden mech snorted disdainfully. ::We'll see about that,:: he retorted. ::Smokescreen has to see it first. I dare him to come within ten feet of you unless his internals are spilling out.::

Ratchet blinked at that. ::Well _you're_ morbid today.::

"I'm not feeling very charitable right now," Sunstreaker said aloud in an irritable voice.

"Obviously," Ratchet murmured. Wheeljack arched an optic ridge at them.

"Why do I get the feeling that I just missed something?" he asked dryly.

"Aww, poor 'Jack's left out of the loop," Sideswipe crooned, patting the inventor on the head patronizingly. Wheeljack glowered at him and batted at the offending hand.

"Keep your hands to yourself," the Lancia grouched. "Ratchet, you know I love you dearly, but you should probably get your two hooligans out of here before they annoy the slag out of the rest of us. I _do_ still have a hangover, you know."

"Aww, but Wheeljack! Who will we annoy if we can't annoy you?" Sideswipe whined, giving him the most pitiful look he could muster.

Wheeljack sniffed disdainfully. "You can annoy Ratchet. He seems to like it." He ignored the medic's irritated "Hey!" However, he couldn't help but laugh at Sideswipe's suddenly gleeful expression as the red mech turned to his bondmate.

"Didja hear that, Ratch? I've got _permission_ to _annoy_ you!"

"Goody," Ratchet muttered half-heartedly—though they could see the grin trying to spread across his face at Sideswipe's antics. Sunstreaker arched an optic ridge as though all this were beneath him, and Wheeljack shook his head—just a few short months ago, Ratchet would have had what Sparkplug called a 'shit-fit' at this kind of behavior from the twins.

Oh, how times change.

"C'mon, Ratch," Sideswipe was saying, tugging the medic along behind him as he headed for the door. "If I'm gonna annoy you, you're gonna have to refuel—and no buts! You'll do it if I have to tie you to the damn chair and stick a funnel in you."

"That sounds fun," Sunstreaker said in a sultry voice from where he was trailing along behind the other two. "Can I hold the funnel?"

"NO!" Ratchet snapped, twisting his hand free and attempting to escape, but he had no sooner gotten away from Sideswipe than he ran smack into Sunstreaker—who went to one knee, put a shoulder against Ratchet's midsection, and hoisted him up in a fireman's carry while the medic snarled the vilest curses in his vocabulary and beat his fists against the yellow 'Bot's back.

_Only Ratchet or Sideswipe could get away with scuffing that yellow paint like that,_ Wheeljack mused.

First Aid came up to stand beside his creator as the trio vanished through the doorway. Wheeljack looked at him inquiringly, and the Protectobot murmured, "I'm glad they make sure he takes care of himself, even if their methods are underhanded sometimes."

Swoop squawked in agreement, startling the engineer. "Him Ratchet work too hard. You Wheeljack not able to keep optic on him all the time, but it hard to lie to bondmates, and them Twins overprotective. They take _good _care of him."

The engineer nodded, feeling pleased that his oldest friend had found such devoted—if exasperating—bondmates. "Alright, boys," he announced cheerfully, trying to ignore the stab of loneliness in his own spark, "what say we finish cataloguing those new supplies?" Twin groans of dismay answered him as they got to work.


End file.
